r., 


•s>» 


WINNING  HIS  WAY. 


BY 


CHARLES  CARLETON  COFFIN, 

AUTHOR  OF  "STORY  OF  LIBERTY,"   "BOYS  OF '76,"  "MY  DAYS  AJfO 

KIGHTS  ON  THE  BATTLEFIELD,"  "OUR  NEW  WAY  ROUND 

THE  WORLD,"  "FOLLOWING  THE  VLAQ,"  ETC. 

flfr 


BOfeTON,   MASS.: 
PERRY    MASON    &    CO. 

1888, 


Entered  According  to  A*  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1865,  by 

CHARLES    CARLETON   COFFIN, 
In  the  Cleric'*  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  MassachusttlB 


CON  TE  NTS. 


L  FIRST  YEARS    ..•••••  I 

IL  HARD  TIMES       ......  27 

IIL  MERRY  TIMES  .......  4* 

IV.  Music  AND  PAINTING          .       •       .       •  63 

V.  THE  NIGHT-HAWKS 82 

VL  PAUL'S  FRIENDS    ......  9' 

VII.  IN  A  TRAP 103 

VIII.  KEEPING  SCHOOL.       .....  116 

IX.  RALLYING  ROUND  THB  FLAG   .       .       .       .126 

X.  A  SOLDIER    .......  144 

XL  SCOUTING 156 

XIL  MISSED  FROM  HOME     .....  17° 

XIII.  THE  MARCH 175 

XIV.  THE  BATTLE.  i8c 


28. 


lv  Contents. 

XV.    SHOWING  WHAT  HE  WAS  MADE  OF  .       .       •  19° 

XVI.    HONOR  TO  THE  BRAVB 20° 

XVIL    CHICKAMAUGA 2°7 

XVIIL     HOW     HE     LIVED    IN    THE     MEMORY    OF     HIS 

FRIENDS 2I1 

XIX.    WHAT  BECAME  OF  A  TRAITOR     ...  217 

XX.    DARK  DAYS 224 

XXI.    CONSECRATION 233 

XXII.    UNDER  THE  OLD  FLAG *4l 

XXIIL    THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH 248 

XXIV.    HOMB       ...  •  253 


WINNING    HIS    WAY. 


CHAPTER    I. 

FIRST  YEARS. 

MANY  years  ago,  before  railroads  were  thought 
of,  a  company  of  Connecticut  farmers,  who 
had  heard  marvellous  stories  of  the  richness  of  the 
land  in  the  West,  sold  their  farms,  packed  up  their 
goods,  bade  adieu  to  their  friends,  and  with  their 
families  started  for  Ohio. 

After  weeks  of  travel  over  dusty  roads,  they  came 
to  a  beautiful  valley,  watered  by  a  winding  river. 
The  hills  around  were  fan  and  sunny.  There  were 
groves  of  oaks,  and  maples,  and  lindens.  The  air 
was  fragrant  with  honeysuckle  and  jasmine.  There 
was  plenty  of  game.  The  swift-footed  deer  browsed 
the  tender  grass  upon  the  hills.  Squirrels  chat- 
tered in  the  trees  and  the  ringdoves  cooed  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest  The  place  was  so  fertile  and 


2  '  Winning  Kis  Way. 

fair,  so  pleasant  and  peaceful,  that  the  emigrants 
made  it  their  home,  and  called  it  New  Hope. 

They  built  a  mill  upon  the  river.  They  laid  out 
a  wide,  level  street,  and  a  public  square,  erected  a 
school-house,  and  then  a  church.  One  of  their  num- 
ber opened  a  store.  Other  settlers  came,  and,  as  the 
years  passed  by,  the  village  rang  with  the  shouts  of 
children  pouring  from  the  school-house  for  a  frolic 
upon  the  square.  Glorious  times  they  had  beneath 
the  oaks  and  maples. 

One  of  the  j oiliest  of  the  boys  was  Paul  Parker, 
only  son  of  Widow  Parker,  who  lived  in  a  little  old 
house,  shaded  by  a  great  maple,  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  village.  Her  husband  died  when  Paul  was  in 
his  cradle.  Paul's  grandfather  was  still  living.  The 
people  called  him  "  Old  Pensioner  Parker,"  for  he 
fought  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  received  a  pension  from 
government  He  was  hale  and  hearty,  though  more 
than  eighty  years  of  agfc. 

The  pension  was  the  main  support  of  the  family. 
They  kept  a  cow,  a  pig,  turkeys,  and  chickens,  and, 
by  selling  milk  and  eggs,  which  Paul  carried  to  their 
customers,  they  brought  the  years  round  without  run- 
ning in  debt  Paul's  pantaloons  had  a  patch  on  each 


First  Years.  3 

knee,  but  he  laughed  just  as  loud  and  whistled  just 
as  cheerily  for  all  that. 

In  summer  he  went  barefoot  He  did  not  have 
to  turn  out  at  every  mud-puddle,  and  he  could  plash 
into  the  mill-pond  and  give  the  frogs  a  crack  over 
the  head  without  stopping  to  take  off  stockings  and 
shoes.  Paul  did  not  often  have  a  dinner  of  roast 
beef,  but  he  had  an  abundance  of  bean  porridge, 
brown  bread,  and  milk. 

"  Bean  porridge  is  wholesome  food,  Paul,"  said  his 
grandfather.  "  When  I  was  a  boy  we  used  to  say,  — 

« Bean  porridge  hot, 
Bean  porridge  cold,  — 
Bean  porridge  best 
Nine  days  old.' 

The  wood-choppers  in  winter  used  to  freeze  it  into 
cakes  and  carry  it  into  the  woods.  Many  a  time  I 
have  made  a  good  dinner  on  a  chunk  of  frozen  por- 
ridge/ 

The  Pensioner  remembered  what  took  place  in 
his  early  years,  but  he  lost  his  reckoning  many  times 
a  day  upon  what  was  going  on  in  the  town.  He 
loved  to  tell  stories,  and  Paul  was  a  willing  listener. 
Pleasant  winter-evenings  they  had  in  the  old  kitchen, 


4  Winning-  his  Way. 

the  hickory  logs  blazing  on  the  hearth,  the  tea-kettle 
singing  through  its  nose,  the  clock  ticking  soberly, 
the  old  Pensioner  smoking  his  pipe  in  the  arm-chair, 
Paul's  mother  knitting,  —  Bruno  by  Paul's  side,  wag- 
ging his  tail  and  watching  Muff  in  the  opposite  cor- 
ner rolling  her  great  round  yellow  eyes.  Bruno  was 
always  ready  to  give  Muff  battle  whenever  Paul 
tipped  him  the  wink  to  pitch  in. 

The  Pensioner's  stories  were  of  his  boyhood,— 
how  he  joined  the  army,  and  fought  the  battles  of 
the  Revolution.  Thus  his  story  ran. 

"I  was  only  a  little  bigger  than  you  are,  Paul," 
he  said,  "  when  the  red-coats  began  the  war  at  Lex- 
ington. I  lived  in  old  Connecticut  then;  that  was 
a  long  time  before  we  came  out  here.  The  meeting- 
house bell  rung,  and  the  peop'e  blew  their  dinner- 
horns,  till  the  whole  town  was  alarmed.  I  ran  up  to 
the  meeting-house  and  found  the  militia  forming. 
The  men  had  their  guns  and  powder-horns. .  The 
women  were  at  work  melting  their  pewter  porrin 
gers  into  bullets.  I  was  n't  oM  enough  to  train, 
but  I  could  fire  a  gun  and  bring  down  a  squirrel 
from  the  top  of  a  tree.  I  wanted  to  go  and  help 
drive  the  red-coats  into  the  ocean.  I  askf  d  mothei 


First  Years.  5 

if  I  might  I  was  afraid  that  she  did  n't  wan,,  me 
to  go.  'Why,  Paul,'  says  she,  'you  have  n't  any 
clothes/  '  Mother,'  says  I,  '  I  can  shoot  a  red-coat 
just  as  well  as  any  of  the  men  can.'  Says  she,  '  Do 
you  want  to  go,  Paul  ? '  '  Yes,  mother.'  '  Then  you 
shall  go ;  I  '11  fix  you  out,'  she  said.  As  I  had  n't 
any  coat  she  took  a  meal-bag,  cut  a  hole  for  my 
head  in  the  bottom,  and  made  holes  for  my  arms 
in  the  sides,  cut  off  a  pair  of  her  own  stocking-legs, 
and  sewed  them  on  for  sleeves,  and  I  was  rigged. 
I  took  the  old  gun  which  father  carried  at  Ticon- 
deroga,  and  the  powder-horn,  and  started.  There 
is  the  gun  and  the  horn,  Paul,  hanging  up  over  the 
fireplace. 

"The  red-coats  had  got  back  to  Boston,  but  we 
cooped  them  up.  Our  company  was  in  Colonef 
Knowlton's  regiment.  I  carried  the  flag,  which 
said,  Qui  transtulit  sustinet.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  Latin,  but  those  who  do  say  it  means  that 
God  who  hath  transported  us  hither  will  sustain 
us;  and  that  is  true,  Paul.  He  sustained  us  at 
Bunker  Hill,  and  we  should  have  held  it  if  our 
p&wder  had  not  given  out.  Our  regiment  was  by  a 
rail-fence  on  the  northeast  side  of  the  hill.  Stark, 


. 

6  Winning  his  Way. 

with  his  Ne-w  Hampshire  boys,  was  by  the  river. 
Prescott  was  in  the  redoubt  on  the  top  of  the  hill. 
Old  Put  kept  walking  up  and  down  the  lines.  This 
is  the  way  it  was,  Paul." 

The  Pensioner  laid  aside  his  pipe,  bent  forward, 
and  traced  upon  the  hearth  the  positions  of  the 
troops. 

"  There  is  the  redoubt ;  here  is  the  rail-fence  ;  there 
is  where  the  red-coats  formed  their  lines.  They  came 
up  in  front  of  us  here.  We  did  n't  fire  a  gun  till  they 
got  close  to  us.  I  '11  show  you  how  the  fire  ran  down 
the  line." 

He  took  down  the  horn,  pulled  out  the  stopper,  held 
his  finger  over  the  tip,  and  made  a  trail  of  powder. 

"There,  Paul,  that  is  by  the  fence.  As  the  red- 
coats came  up,  some  of  us  began  to  be  uneasy  and 
wanted  to  fire  ;  but  Old  Put  kept  saying,  c  Don't  fire 
yet !  Wait  till  you  can  see  the  white  of  their  eyes  1 
Aim  at  their  belts!'" 

While  the  Pensioner  was  saying  this,  he  took  the 
tongs  and  picked  a  live  coal  from  the  fire. 

"  They  came  up  beautifully,  Paul,  —  the  tall  grena- 
diers and  light-infantry  in  their  scarlet  coats,  and  the 
Bun  shining  on  their  gun-barrels  and  bayonets.  They 


First  Years.  7 

weren't  more  than  ten  rods  off  when  a  soldier  on  top 
of  the  hill  could  n't  stand  it  any  longer.  Pop  1  went 
his  gun,  and  the  fire  ran  down  the  hill  quicker  than 
scat !  just  like  this  ! " 

He  touched  the  coal  to  the  powder.  There  was  a 
flash,  a  puff  of  smoke  rising  to  the  ceiling,  and  filling 
the  room. 

"  Hooray  1 "  shouted  Paul,  springing  to  his  feet 
Muff  went  with  a  jump  upon  the  bureau  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  her  tail  as  big  as  Paul's  arm,  and  her  back 
up.  Bruno  was  after  her  in  a  twinkling,  bouncing 
about,  barking,  and  looking  round  to  Paul  to  see  if  it 
was  all  right 

"  There,  grandpa,  you  have  made  a  great  smut  on 
the  hearth,"  said  Mrs.  Parker,  who  kept  her  house 
neat  and  tidy,  though  it  was  a  crazy  old  affair. 

"Well,  mother,  I  thought  it  would  please  Paul." 

"  S-s-s-s-si'c  1 "  Paul  made  a  hiss  which  Bruno 
understood,  for  he  went  at  Muff  more  fiercely.  It 
was  glorious  to  see  Muff  spit  fire,  and  hear  her 
growl  low  and  deep  like  distant  thunder.  Paul 
would  not  have  Muff  hurt  for  anything,  but  he  loved 
to  see  Bruno  show  his  teeth  at  her,  for  she  was 
gritty  when  waked  up. 


8  Winning  his  Way, 

"Be  still,  Paul,  and  let  Muff  alone,"  said  Paul's 
mother. 

"Come,  Bruno,  she  ain't  worth  minding,"  said 
Paul. 

"  They  have  got  good  courage,  both  of  'em,"  said 
the  Pensioner ;  "and  courage  is  one  half  of  the 
battle,  and  truth  and  honor  is  the  other  half.  Paul, 
I  want  you  to  remember  that.  It  will  be  worth 
more  than  a  fortune  to  you.  I  don't  mean  that 
cats  and  dogs  know  much  about  truth  and  honor, 
and  I  have  seen  some  men  who  did  n't  know  much 
more  about  those  qualities  of  character  than  Muff 
and  Bruno ;  but  what  I  have  said,  Paul,  is  true  for 
all  that.  They  who  win  success  in  life  are  those 
who  love  truth,  and  who  follow  what  is  noble  and 
good.  No  matter  how. brave  a  man  may  be,  if  he 
has  n't  these  qualities  he  won't  succeed.  He  may 
get  rich,  but  that  won't  amount  to  much.  Success, 
Paul,  is  to  have  an  unblemished  character,  —  to  be 
true  to  ourselves,  to  our  country,  and  to  God." 

He  went  on  with  his  story,  telling  how  the  British 
troops  ran  before  the  fire  of  the  Yankees,  —  how 
they  re-formed  and  came  on  a  second  time,  and 
were  repulsed  again, — how  General  Clinton  went 


First  Years.  g 

over  from  Boston  with  reinforcements, — how  Charles- 
town  was  set  on  fire,  —  how  the  flames  leaped  from 
house  to  house,  and  curled  round  the  spire  of  the 
church, — how  the  red-coats  advanced  a  third  time 
beneath  the  great  black  clouds  of  smoke,  —  how  the 
ammunition  of  the  Yankees  gave-  out,  and  they 
were  obliged  to  retreat, — how  General  Putnam  tried 
to  rally  them,  —  how  they  escaped  across  Charles- 
town  Neck,  where  the  cannon-balls  from  the  British 
floating  batteries  raked  the  ranks  1  He  made  it  all 
so  plain,  that  Paul  wished  he  had  been  there. 

The  story  completed,  Paul  climbed  the  creaking 
stairway  to  his  narrow  chamber,  repeated  his  even- 
ing prayer,  and  scrambled  into  bed. 

"  He  is  a  jolly  boy,"  said  the  Pensioner  to  Paul's 
mother,  as  Paul  left  the  room. 

"  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  him,"  she  re- 
plied, "he  is  so  wild  and  thoughtless.  He  leaves 
the  door  open,  throws  his  cap  into  the  corner,  sets 
Bruno  and  Muff  to  growling,  stops  to  play  on  his 
way  home  from  school,  sings,  whistles,  shaats,  hur- 
rahs, and  tears  round  like  all  possessed." 

If  she  could  have  looked  into  Paul's  desk  at 
school,  she  would  have  found  whirligigs,  tops,  pin- 
x* 


io  Winning  his   Way. 

boxes,  nails,  and  no  end  of    strings  and  dancing 
dandy-jims. 

"  Paul  is  a  rogue,"  said  the  Pensioner.  "You  re 
member  how  he  got  on  top  of  the  house  awhile  ago 
and  frightened  us  out  of  our  wits  by  shouting  '  Fire  I 
fit  e  1 '  down  the  chimney ;  how  we  ran  out  to  see 
about  it ;  how  I  asked  him  '  Where  ? '  and  says  he, 
'Down  there  in  the  fireplace,  grandpa.'  He  is  a 
chip  of  the  old  block.  I  used  to  do  just  so.  But 
there  is  one  good  thing  about  him,  he  don't  do 
mean  tricks.  He  don't  bend  up  pins  and  put  them 
in  the  boys'  seats,  or  tuck  chestnut-burs  into  the 
girls'  hoods.  I  never  knew  him  to  tell  a  lie.  He 
will  come  out  all  right." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Mrs.  Parker. 

Paul  could  look  through  the  crevices  between  the 
shingles,  and  the  cracks  in  the  walls,  and  behold 
the  stars  gleaming  from  the  unfathomable  spaces. 
He  wondered  how  far  they  were  away.  He  listened 
to  the  wind  chanting  a  solemn  dirge,  filling  his  soul 
with  longings  for  he  knew  not  what.  He  thought 
over  his  grandfather's  stories,  and  the  words  he  had 
spoken  about  courage,  truth,  and  honor,  till  a  shingle 
clattering  in  the  wind  took  up  the  refrain,  and 


First  Years.  n 

seemed  to  say,  Truth  and  honor,  —  truth  and  honor, 

—  truth    and    honor,  —  so  steadily    and    pleasantly, 
that  while  he  listened  the  stars  faded  from  his  sight, 
and  he  sailed  away  into  dream-land. 

Paul  was  twelve  years  old,  stout,  hearty,  and 
healthy,  —  full  of  life,  and  brimming  over  with  fun. 
Once  he  set  the  village  in  a  roar.  The  people  per- 
mitted their  pigs  to  run  at  large.  The  great  maple 
in  front  of  the  Pensioner's  house  was  cool  and  shady, 

—  a  delightful  place  for  the  pigs   through  the  hot 
summer  days. 

Mr.  Chrome,  the  carriage-painter,  lived  across  the 
road.  He  painted  a  great  many  wagons  for  the 
farmers,  —  the  wheels  yellow,  the  bodies  blue,  green, 
or  red,  with  scrolls  and  flowers  on  the  sides.  Paul 
watched  him  by  the  hour,  and  sometimes  made  up 
his  mind  to  be  a  carriage-painter  when  he  became 
a  man. 

"Mr.  Chrome,"  said  Paul,  "don't  you  think  that 
those  pigs  would  look  better  if  they  were  painted  ? " 

"Perhaps  so." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  how  they  would  look  painted 
as  you  paint  your  wagons." 

Mr.  Chrome  laughed  at  the  ludicrous  fancy.    Ha 


12  Winning  his  Way. 

loved  fun,  and  was  ready  to  help  carry   out  the 

freak. 

"Well,  just  try  your  hand  on  improving  nature/' 
he  said. 

Paul  went  to  work.  Knowing  that  pigs  like  to 
have  their  backs  scratched,  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
keeping  them  quiet  To  one  he  gave  green  legs, 
blue  ears,  red  rings  round  its  eyes,  and  a  red  tail. 
Another  had  one  red  leg,  one  blue,  one  yellow,  one 
green,  with  red  and  blue  stripes  and  yellow  stars 
on  its  body.  "  I  will  make  him  a  star-spangled  pig," 
Paul  shouted  to  Mr.  Chrome.  Another  had  a  green 
head,  yellow  ears,  and  a  red  body.  Bruno  watched 
the  proceedings,  wagging  his  tail,  looking  now  at 
Paul  and  then  at  the  pigs,  ready  to  help  on  the  fun. 

"  Si'c !  —  si'c !  —  si'c  1 "  said  Paul.  Bruno  was  upon 
them  with  a  bound.  Away  they  capered,  with  him, 
at  their  heels.  As  soon  as  they  came  into  the  sun-| 
shine  the  spirits  of  turpentine  in  the  paint  was  like 
fire  to  their  flesh.  Faster  they  ran  up  the  street 
squealing,  with  Bruno  barking  behind.  Mr.  Chrome 
laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  All  the 
dogs,  great  and  small,  joined  Bruno  in  chase  of  the 
strange  game.  People  came  out  from  the  stores. 


First  Years.  13 

windows  were  thrown  up,  and  all  hands  —  men,  wo- 
men, and  children  —  ran  to  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter, laughing  and  shouting,  while  the  pigs  and  dogs 
ran  round  the  square. 

"Paul  Parker  did  that,  I'll  bet,"  said  Mr.  Leather- 
by,  the  shoemaker,  peeping  out  from  his  shop.  "It 
is  just  like  him." 

An  old  white  horse,  belonging  to  Mr.  Smith,  also 
sought  the  shade  of  the  maple  before  the  Pension- 
er's house.  Bruno  barked  at  him  by  the  hour,  but 
the  old  horse  would  not  move  for  anything  short 
of  a  club  or  stone. 

"  I  11  see  if  I  can't  get  rid  of  him,"  said  Paul  to 
himself. 

He  went  into  the  barn,  found  a  piece  of  rope,  tied 
up  a  little  bundle  of  hay,  got  a  stick  five  or  six  feet 
long,  and  some  old  harness-straps.  In  the  evening, 
when  it  was  so  dark  that  people  could  not  see  what 
he  was  up  to,  he  caught  the  old  horse,  laid  the  stick 
between  his  ears  and  strapped  it  to  his  neck,  and 
tied  the  hay  to  the  end  of  the  stick,  in  such  a  waj 
that  it  hung  a  few  inches  beyond  old  Whitey's  nose. 
The  old  horse  took  a  step  ahead  to  nibble  the  hay,  — 
another, — another, — another  1  "Don't  you  wish 


14  Winning  his   Way. 

you  may  get  it?"  said  Paul.  Tramp,  —  tramp,— 
tramp.  Old  Whitey  went  down  the  road.  Paul  heard 
him  go  across  the  bridge  by  the  mill,  and  up  the  hill 
the  other  side  of  the  brook, 

"Go  it,  old  fellow!"  he  shouted,  then  listened 
again.  It  was  a  calm  night,  and  he  could  just  hear 
old  Whitey's  feet,  —  tramp,  —  tramp,  —  tramp. 

The  next  morning  the  good  people  of  Fairview, 
ten  miles  from  New  Hope,  laughed  to  see  an  old 
white  horse,  with  a  bundle  of  hay  a  few  inches  be- 
yond his  nose,  passing  through  the  place. 

Mr.  Smith,  after  breakfast,  started  out  to  hunt  up 
old  Whitey.  He  often  found  him  under  the  maple 
in  front  of  the  Pensioner's  house.  Paul  was  swing- 
ing on  the  gate.  "  Have  you  seen  my  horse  ? "  Mr. 
Smith  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  saw  him  going  down  towards  the  bridge 
last  evening,"  Paul  replied,  chuckling  to  himself. 

Mr.  Smith  went  down  to  the  mill  and  inquired. 
The  miller  heard  a  horse  go  over  the  bridge.  The 
farmer  on  the  other  side  heard  a  horse  go  up  the 
hill.  Mr.  Smith  looked  at  the  tracks.  They  were 
old  Whitey's,  who  had  a  broken  shoe  on  his  left  hind 
He  followed  on.  "I  never  knew  him  to  go 


First  Years*  15 

away  before,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  walked  hour 
after  hour,  seeing  the  tracks  all  the  way  to  Fairview. 

"Have  you  seen  a  white  horse  about  here?"  he 
asked  of  one  of  the  villagers. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  there  was  one  here  this  morning  trying 
to  overtake  a  bundle  of  hay,"  the  man  replied,  laugh- 
ing. "There  he  is  now!"  he  added. 

Mr.  Smith  looked  up  and  saw  old  Whitey,  who 
had  turned  about,  and  was  reaching  forward  to  get 
a  nibble  of  the  hay.  Mr.  Smith  felt  like  being  angry, 
but  the  old  horse  was  walking  so  soberly  and  ear- 
nestly that  he  could  n't  help  laughing. 

"  That  is  some  of  Paul's  doings,  I  know.  I  '11  give 
him  a  blessing  when  I  get  back." 

It  was  noon  before  Mr.  Smith  reached  New  Hope. 
Paul  and  Bruno  were  sitxing  beneath  the  maple. 

"Where  did  you  find  old  Whitey?"   Paul  asked. 

"  You  was  the  one  who  did  it,  you  little  rascal  1 " 

"Did  what?" 

"  You  know  what.  You  have  made  me  walk  clear 
to  Fairview.  I  have  a  mind  to  horsewhip  you." 

Paul  laughed  to  think  that  the  old  horse  had 
tramped  so  far,  though  he  was  sorry  that  Mr.  Smith 
had  been  obliged  to  walk  that  distance. 


1 6  Winning  his  Way. 

11 1  did  n't  mean  any  harm,  Mr.  Smith ;  but  old 
Whitey  has  made  our  dooryard  his  stamping-place 
all  summer,  and  I  thought  I  would  see  if  I  could 
get  rid  of  him." 

"  Well,  sir,  if  you  do  it  again  I  '11  trounce  you ! " 
said  Mr.  Smith  as  he  rode  away,  his  anger  com- 
ing up. 

"  Would  n't  it  be  better  for  you  to  put  him  in  a  pas- 
ture, Mr.  Smith  ?  Then  he  would  n't  trouble  us,"  said 
Paul,  who  knew  that  Mr.  Smith  had  no  right  to  let  old 
Whitey  run  at  large.  Paul  was  not  easily  frightened 
when  he  had  right  on  his  side.  The  people  in  the 
stores  and  at  the  tavern  had  a  hearty  laugh  when  they 
heard  how  old  Whitey  went  to  Fairview. 

Mr.  Cipher  taught  the  village  school.  He  was  tall, 
slim,  thin-faced,  with  black  eyes  deeply  set  in  his  head, 
and  a  long,  hooked  nose  like  an  eagle's  bill.  He 
wore  a  loose  swallow-tailed  coat  with  bright  brass 
buttons,  and  pants  which  were  several  inches  too 
short.  The  Committee  employed  him,  not  because 
he  was  a  superior  teacher,  but  they  could  get  him  for 
twelve  dollars  a  month,  while  Mr.  Rudiment,  who  had 
been  through  college,  and  who  was  known  to  be  an 
excellent  instructor,  asked  sixteen. 


First  Years.  17 

There  was  a  crowd  of  roistering  bo>s  and  rosy- 
cheeked  girls,  who  made  the  old  school-house  hum 
like  a  beehive.  Very  pleasant  to  the  passers-by  was 
the  music  of  their  voices.  At  recess  and  at  noon  they 
had  leap-frog  and  tag.  Paul  was  in  a  class  with  Philip 
Funk,  Hans  Middlekauf,  and  Michael  Murphy.  There 
were  other  boys  and  girls  of  all  nationalities.  Paul's 
ancestors  were  from  Connecticut,  while  Philip's  father 
was  a  Virginian.  Hans  was  born  in  Germany,  and 
Michael  in  Ireland.  Philip's  father  kept  a  grocery, 
and  sold  sugar,  molasses,  tobacco,  and  whiskey.  He 
was  rich,  and  Philip  wore  good  clothes  and  calf-skin 
boots.  Paul  could  get  his  lessons  very  quick  when- 
ever he  set  about  them  in  earnest,  but  he  spent  half 
his  time  in  inventing  fly-traps,  making  whirligigs,  or 
drawing  pictures  on  his  slate.  He  had  an  accurate 
eye,  and  could  draw  admirably.  Philip  could  get 
his  lessons  also  if  he  chose  to  apply  himself,  but 
it  was  a  great  deal  easier  to  have  some  one  work 
out  the  problems  in  arithmetic  than  to  do  them  him 
self. 

"  Here,  Paul,  just  help  me ;  that  is  a  good  fellow," 
he  said,  coaxingly. 

It  was  at  recess. 


1 8  Winning  his  Way. 

"  No ;  Ciphei  has  forbid  it  Each  one  must  do  his 
own  work,"  said  Paul. 

"  If  you  will  do  it,  I  will  give  you  a  handful  of  rai- 
sins," said  Philip,  who  usually  had  his  pockets  full  of 
raisins,  candy,  or  nuts. 

"  It  would  n't  be  right." 

"  Come,  just  do  this  one ;  Cipher  never  will  know 
it" 

"  No  ! "     Paul  said  it  resolutely. 

"  You  are  a  mean,  sneaking  fellow,"  said  Philip. 

Philip  was  a  year  older  than  Paul.  He  had  sandy 
hair,  white  eyelashes,  and  a  freckled  face.  He  carried 
a  watch,  and  always  had  money  in  his  pocket.  Paul, 
on  the  other  hand,  hardly  ever  had  a  cent  which  he 
could  call  his  own.  His  clothes  were  worn  till  they 
were  almost  past  mending. 

"Rag-tag  has  got  a  hole  in  his  trousers,"  said  Philip 
to  the  other  boys. 

Paul's  face  flushed.  He  wanted  to  knock  PhiHp  s 
teeth  down  his  throat.  He  knew  that  his  mother  had 
hard  work  to  clothe  him,  and  felt  the  insult  keenly. 
He  went  into  the  school-house,  choked  his  anger 
down,  and  tried  to  forget  all  about  it  by  drawing  a 
picture  of  the  master.  It  was  an  excellent  likeness, 


First  Years.  19 

—  his  spindle  legs,  great  feet,  short  pants,  loose  coat, 
sunken  eyes,  hooked  nose,  thin  face,  and  long  bony 
fingers. 

Philip  sat  behind  Paul.  Instead  of  studying  his 
lesson,  he  was  planning  how  to  get  Paul  into  trouble. 
He  saw  the  picture.  Now  was  his  time.  He  giggled 
aloud.  Mr.  Cipher  looked  up  in  astonishment 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at,  Master  Funk  ? " 

"  At  what  Paul  is  doing." 

Paul  hustled  his  slate  into  his  desk. 

"Let  me  see  what  you  have  here,"  said  Cipher, 
walking  up  to  Paul,  who  spat  on  his  fingers,  and  ran 
his  hand  into  the  desk,  to  rub  out  the  drawing ;  but 
he  felt  that  it  would  be  better  to  meet  his  punishment 
boldly  than  to  have  the  school  think  he  was  a  sneak. 
He  laid  the  slate  before  the  master  without  a  line 
effaced. 

"  Giving  your  attention  to  drawing,  are  you,  Master 
Paul  ? "  said  Cipher.  His  eyes  flashed.  He  knit  his 
brows.  The  blood  rushed  to  his  cheeks.  There  was 
a  popping  up  of  heads  all  over  the  school-room  to  get 
a  sight  of  the  picture. 

The  boys  laughed  aloud,  and  there  was  a  tittering 
among  the  girls,  which  made  Cipher  very  angry. 


2O  Winning  his    Way. 

"  Silence  ! "  he  roared,  and  stamped  upon  the  floor  so 
savagely  that  the  windows  rattled.  "  Come  out  here, 
sir.  I  '11  give  you  a  drawing-lesson  of  another  sort." 
He  seized  Paul  by  the  collar,  and  threw  him  into  the 
space  in  front  of  his  own  desk.  "Hold  out  your 
hand." 

Paul  felt  that  he  was  about  to  receive  a  tremendous 
thrashing ;  but  he  determined  that  he  would  not 
flinch.  He  held  out  his  right  hand,  and  received  the 
blow  from  a  heavy  ferule.  His  hand  felt  as  if  he  had 
been  struck  by  a  piece  of  hot  iron. 

"Theother^sir." 

Whack  !  it  fell,  a  blow  which  made  the  flesh  purple. 
There  was  an  Oh !  upon  his  tongue ;  but  he  set  his 
teeth  together,  and  bit  his  lips  till  they  bled,  and  so 
smothered  it.  Another  blow,  —  another,  —  another. 
They  were  hard  to  bear ;  but  his  teeth  were  set  like  a 
vice.  There  was  a  twitching  of  the  muscles  round  his 
lips ;  he  was  pale.  When  the  blows  fell,  he  held  his 
breath,  but  did  not  snivel. 

"  I  '11  see  if  I  can't  bring  you  to  your  feeling,  you 
good-for-nothing  scapegrace,"  said  the  master,  mad 
with  passion,  and  surprised  that  Paul  made  no  outcry. 
He  gave  another  round,  bringing  the  ferule  down  with 


First  Years.  21 

great  force.  Blood  began  to  ooze  from  the  pores. 
The  last  blow  spattered  the  drops  around  the  room 
Cipher  came  to  his  senses.  He  stopped. 

"  Are  you  sorry,  sir  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not  I  did  n't 
mean  any  harm.  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have 
drawn  it  in  school ;  but  I  did  n't  do  it  to  make  fun. 
I  drew  you  just  as  you  are,"  said  Paul,  —  his  voice 
trembling  a  little  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  control  it. 

The  master  could  not  deny  that  it  was  a  perfect 
likeness.  He  was  surprised  at  Paul's  cleverness  at 
drawing,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  saw  that  he 
cut  a  ridiculous  figure  wearing  that  long,  loose,  swal- 
low-tailed coat,  with  great,  flaming  brass  buttons,  and 
resolved  upon  the  spot  that  his  next  coat  should  be  a 
frock,  and  that  he  would  get  a  longer  pair  of  pants. 

"  You  may  take  your  seat,  sir ! "  he  said,  puzzled 
to  know  whether  to  punish  Paul  still  more,  and 
compel  him  to  say  that  he  was  sorry,  or  whether  tc* 
accept  the  explanations,  and  apologize  for  whipping 
'lim  so  severely. 

Paul  sat  down.  His  hands  ached  terribly  ;  but 
what  troubled  him  moot  was  the  thought  that  he  had 
been  whipped  before  the  whole  school.  All  the  girls 


22  Winning  his   Way. 

had  witnessed  his  humiliation.  There  was  one 
among  them,  —  Azalia  Adams,  —  who  stood  at  the 
head  of  Paul's  class,  the  best  reader  and  speller  in 
school.  She  had  ruby  lips,  and  cheeks  like  roses  ; 
the  golden  sunlight  falling  upon  her  chestnut  hair 
crowned  her  with  glory ;  deep,  thoughtful,  and  earnest 
was  the  liquid  light  of  her  hazel  eyes ;  she  was  as 
lovely  and  beautiful  as  the  flower  whose  name  she 
bore.  Paul  had  drawn  her  picture  many  times, — 
sometimes  bending  over  her  task,  sometimes  as  she 
sat,  unmindful  of  the  hum  of  voices  around  her,  look- 
ing far  away  into  a  dim  and  distant  dream-land.  He 
never  wearied  of  tracing  the  features  of  one  so  fair 
and  good  as  she.  Her  laugh  was  as  musical  as  a 
mountain-brook  ;  and  in  the  church  on  Sunday,  when 
he  heard  her  voice  sweetly  and  melodiously  mingling 
with  the  choir,  he  thought  of  the  angels,  —  of  her  as 
in  heaven  and  he  on  earth. 

"  Run  home,  sonny,  and  tell  your  marm  that  you 
got  a  licking,"  said  Philip  when  school  was  out. 

Paul's  face  became  livid.  He  would  have  doubled 
his  fist  and  given  Philip  a  blow  in  the  face,  but  his 
palms  were  like  puff-ba!ls.  There  was  an  ugly  feeling 
inside,  but  just  then  a  pair  of  bright  hazel  eyes, 


First  Years.  23 

almost  swimming  with  tears,  looked  into  his  own. 
"  Don't  mind  it,  Paul ! "  said  Azalia. 

The  pain  was  not  half  so  hard  to  bear  after  that. 
He  wanted  to  say,  "  I  thank  you,"  but  did  not  know 
how.  Till  then  his  lips  had  hardly  quivered,  and  he 
had  not  shed  a  tear  ;  now  his  eyes  became  moist  ; 
one  great  drop  rolled  down  his  cheek,  but  he  wiped 
it  off  with  his  coat-sleeve,  and  turned  away,  for  fear 
that  Azalia  would  think  him  a  baby. 

On  his  way  home  the  thought  uppermost  in  his 
mind  was,  "  What  will  mother  say  ? "  Why  tell  her  ? 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  keep  the  matter  to  himself  ? 
But  then  he  remembered  that  she  had  said,  "  Paul,  I 
shall  expect  you  to  tell  me  truthfully  all  that  happens 
to  you  at  school."  He  loved  his  mother.  She  was 
one  of  the  best  mothers  that  ever  lived,  working  for 
him  day  and  night.  How  could  he  abuse  such  con- 
fidence as  she  had  given  him  ?  He  would  not  violate 
it.  He  would  not  be  a  sneak. 

His  mother  and  the  Pensionei  were  sitting  before 
the  fire  as  he  entered  the  house.  She  welcomed  him 
with  a  smile,  —  a  beautiful  smile  it  was,  for  she  was 
a  noble  woman,  and  Paul  was  her  darling,  her  pride, 
the  light,  joy,  and  comfort  of  her  life. 


24  Winning1  his   Way. 

"Well,  Paul,  how  do  you  get  on  at  school?"  his 
grandfather  asked. 

"  I  got  a  whipping  to-day."  It  was  spoken  boldly 
and  manfully. 

"What!  My  son  got  a  whipping  1"  his  mother 
exclaimed. 

"Yes,  mother." 

"I  am  astonished.  Come  here,  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

Paul  stood  by  her  side  and  told  the  story,  —  how 
Philip  Funk  tried  to  bribe  him,  how  he  called  him 
names,  —  how,  having  got  his  lessons,  he  made  a 
picture  of  the  master.  "  Here  it  is,  mother."  He 
took  his  slate  from  his  little  green  bag.  The  picture 
had  not  been  effaced.  His  mother  looked  at  it  and 
laughed,  notwithstanding  her  efforts  to  keep  sober, 
for  it  was  such  a  perfect  likeness.  She  had  an  ex- 
quisite sense  of  the  ludicrous,  and  Paul  was  like  her. 
She  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  could  draw  so  well. 

"  We  will  talk  about  the  matter  after  supper,"  she 
said.  She  had  told  Paul  many  times,  that,  if  he  was 
justly  punished  at  school,  he  must  expect  a  second 
punishment  at  home  ;  but  she  wanted  to  think  awhile 
before  deciding  what  to  do.  She  was  pleased  to 


First  Years.  2$ 

know  that  her  boy  could  not  be  bribed  to  do  what 
his  conscience  told  him  he  ought  not  to  do,  and  that 
he  was  manly  and  truthful.  She  would  rather  follow 
him  to  the  church-yard  and  lay  him  in  his  grave 
beneath  the  bending  elms,  than  to  have  him  untruth- 
ful or  wicked. 

The  evening  passed  away.  Paul  sat  before  the  fire, 
looking  steadily  into  the  coals.  He  was  sober  and 
thoughtful,  wondering  what  his  mother  would  say  at 
last.  The  clock  struck  nine.  It  was  his  bedtime. 
He  went  and  stood  by  her  side  once  more.  "You 
are  not  angry  with  me,  mother,  are  you  ? " 

"  No,  my  son.  I  do  not  think  that  you  deserved 
so  severe  a  punishment.  I  am  rejoiced  to  know  that 
you  are  truthful,  and  that  you  despise  a  mean  act. 
Be  always  as  you  have  been  to-night  in  telling  the 
truth,  and  I  never  shall  be  angry  with  you." 

He  threw  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and  gave  way 
to  tears,  such  as  Cipher  could  not  extort  by  his  pound- 
ing. She  gave  him  a  good-night  kiss,  —  so  sweet 
that  it  seemed  to  lie  upon  his  lips  all  through  the 
night. 

"God  bless  you,  Paul,"  said  the  Pensioner. 

Paul  climbed  the  creaking  stairs,  and  knelt  with  ao 


26  Winning  his  Way. 

overflowing  heart  to  say  his  evening  prayer.  He 
spoke  the  words  earnestly  when  he  asked  God  to 
take  care  of  his  mother  and  grandfather.  He  was 
very  happy.  He  looked  out  through  the  crevices  in 
the  walls,  and  saw  the  stars  and  the  moon  flooding 
the  landscape  with  silver  light.  There  was  sweet 
music  in  the  air,  —  the  merry  melody  of  the  water 
murmuring  by  the  mill,  the  cheerful  chirping  of  the 
crickets,  and  the  lullaby  of  the  winds,  near  at  hand 
and  far  away,  putting  him  in  mind  of  the  choirs  on 
earth  and  the  choirs  in  heaven.  "Don't  mind  it, 
Paul ! "  were  the  words  they  sung,  so  sweetly  and 
tenderly  that  for  many  days  they  rang  in  his  ears. 


Hard  Times.  27 


CHAPTER    II. 

HARD  TIMES. 

HOW  lonesome  the  days  when  dear  friends  leave 
us  to  return  no  more,  whom  we  never  shall 
see  again  on  earth,  who  will  send  us  no  message  or 
letter  of  love  from  the  far  distant  land  whither  they 
have  gone!  It  tries  our  hearts  and  brings  tears  to 
our  eyes  to  lay  them  in  the  ground.  But  shall  we 
never,  never  see  them  again?  Yes,  when  we  have 
taken  the  same  journey,  when  we  have  closed  our 
eyes  on  earth  and  opened  them  in  heaven. 

As  the  months  rolled  by,  the  Pensioner's  eyes  grew 
dim.  He  became  weak  and  feeble.  "The  Pen- 
sioner won't  stand  it  long,"  the  people  said. 

He  did  not  rise  one  morning  when  breakfast  was 
ready. 

"  Come,  grandpa,"  said  Paul,  opening  the  bed- 
room door  and  calling  him ;  but  there  was  no  reply. 
He  lay  as  if  asleep ;  but  his  brow  was  cold,  and  his 
heart  had  stopped  beating.  He  had  died  calmly 
and  peacefully,  and  was  forever  at  rest. 


28  Winning  his   Way. 

It  was  a  sad  day  to  Paul  when  he  followed  the 
body  of  his  dear  old  grandfather  to  the  grave ;  but 
when  he  stood  by  his  coffin,  and  looked  for  the  last 
time  upon  his  grandfather's  face,  and  saw  how  peace- 
ful it  was  and  how  pleasant  the  smile  which  rested 
upon  it,  as  if  he  was  beholding  beautiful  scenes,  — 
when  Paul  remembered  how  good  he  was,  he  could 
not  feel  it  in  his  soul  to  say,  "  Come  back,  Grand- 
pa " ;  he  would  be  content  as  it  was.  But  the  days 
were  long  and  dreary,  and  so  were  the  nights.  Many 
the  hours  which  Paul  passed  lying  awake  in  his  bed, 
looking  through  the  crevices  of  the  poor  old  house, 
and  watching  the  stars  and  the  clouds  as  they  went 
sailing  by.  So  he  was  sailing  on,  and  the  question 
would  come  up,  Whither  ?  He  listened  to  the  water 
falling  over  the  dam  by  the  mill,  and  to  the  chirp- 
ing of  the  crickets,  and  the  sighing  of  the  wind,  and 
the  church-bell  tolling  the  hours  :  they  were  sweet, 
yet  mournful  and  solemn  sounds.  Tears  stood  in 
his  eyes  and  rolled  down  his  cheeks,  as  he  thought 
that  he  and  his  mother  were  on  earth,  and  his  father 
and  grandfather  were  praising  God  in  the  heavenly 
choirs.  But  he  resolved  to  be  good,  to  take  care 
of  his  mother,  and  be  her  comfort  and  joy. 


Hard  Times.  29 

Hard  times  came  on.  How  to  live  was  the  great 
question;  for  now  that  his  grandfather  was  gone, 
they  could  have  the  pension  no  longer.  The  neigh- 
bors were  very  kind.  Sometimes  Mr.  Middlekauf, 
Hans's  father,  who  had  a  great  farm,  left  a  bag  of 
meal  for  them  when  he  came  into  the  village.  There 
was  little  work  for  Paul  to  do  in  the  village ;  but  he 
kept  their  o\vn  garden  in  good  trim,  — the  onion-bed 
clear  of  weeds,  and  the  potatoes  well  hilled.  Very 
pleasant  it  was  to  work  there,  where  the  honey-bees 
hummed  over  the  beds  of  sage,  and  among  his  moth- 
er's flowers,  and  where  bumble-bees  dusted  their  yel- 
low jackets  in  the  hollyhocks.  Swallows  also  built 
their  nests  under  the  eaves  of  the  house,  and  made 
the  days  pleasant  with  their  merry  twittering. 

The  old  Pensioner  had  been  a  land  surveyor.  The 
compass  which  he  used  was  a  poor  thing;  but  he 
had  run  many  lines  with  it  through  the  grand  old 
forest.  One  day,  as  Paul  was  weeding  the  onions, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  become  a  surveyor ; 
so  he  went  into  the  house,  took  the  compass  from 
its  case,  and  sat  down  to  study  it.  He  found  his 
grandfather's  surveying-book,  and  began  to  study  that 
Some  parts  were  hard  and  dry ;  but  having  resolved 


3O  Winning  his  Way. 

to  master  it,  he  was  not  the  boy  to  give  up  a  good 
resolution.  It  was  not  long  before  he  found  out  how 
to  run  a  line,  how  to  set  off  angles,  and  how  to  ascer- 
tain the  distance  across  a  river  or  pond  without  meas- 
uring it.  He  went  into  the  woods,  and  stripped  great 
rolls  of  birch  bark  from  the  trees,  carried  them  home, 
spread  them  out  on  the  table,  and  plotted  his  lines 
with  his  dividers  and  ruler.  He  could  not  afford 
paper.  He  took  great  pleasure  in  making  a  sketch 
of  the  ground  around  the  house,  the  garden,  the  or- 
chard, the  field,  the  road,  and  the  river. 

The  people  of  New  Hope  had  long  been  discuss- 
ing the  project  of  building  a  new  road  to  Fairview, 
which  would  cross  the  pond  above  the  mill.  But 
there  was  no  surveyor  in  the  region  to  tell  them  how 
long  the  bridge  must  be  which  they  would  have  to 
build. 

"We  will  send  up  a  kite,  and  thus  get  a  string 
across  the  pond,"  said  one  .of  the  citizens. 

"I  can  ascertain  the  distance  easier  than  that/1 
said  Paul. 

Mr.  Pimpleberry,  the  carpenter,  who  was  to  build 
the  bridge,  laughed,  and  looked  with  contempt  upon 
him,  Paul  thought,  because  he  was  barefoot  and  had 
a  patch  on  each  knee. 


Hard  Times.  31 

"Have  you  "ever  measured  it,  Paul?"  Judge  Adams 
asked. 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  will  do  so  just  to  let  Mr.  Pincple- 
berry  see  that  I  can  do  it." 

He  ran  into  the  house,  brought  out  the  compass, 
went  down  to  the  edge  of  the  pond,  drove  a  small 
stake  in  the  ground,  set  his  compass  over  it,  and 
sighted  a  small  oak-tree  upon  the  other  side  of  the 
pond.  It  happened  that  the  tree  was  exactly  south 
from  the  stake ;  then  he  turned  the  sights  of  his  com- 
pass so  that  they  pointed  exactly  east  and  west.  Then 
he  took  Mr.  Pimpleberry's  ten-foot  pole,  and  meas- 
ured out  fifty  feet  toward  the  west,  and  drove  another 
stake.  Then  he  set  his  compass  there,  and  took 
another  sight  at  the  small  oak-tree  across  the  pond. 
It  was  not  south  now,  but  several  degrees  east  of 
south.  Then  he  turned  his  compass  so  that  the  sights 
would  point  just  the  same  number  of  degrees  to  the 
east  of  north. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Pimpleberry,"  said  Paul,  "  I  want  you 
to  stand  out  there,  and  hold  your  ten-foot  pole  just 
where  I  tell  you,  putting  yourself  in  range  with  the 
stake  I  drove  first  and  the  tree  across  the  pond." 

Mr.  Pimpleberry  did  as  he  was  desired. 


32  Winning  his  Way. 

"  Drive  a  stake  where  your  pole  stands,"  said  Paul. 

Mr.  Pimpleberry  did  so. 

"Now  measure  the  distance  from  the  one  you 
have  just  driven  to  my  first  stake,  and  that  will  be 
the  distance  across  the  pond,"  said  Paul. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Mr.  Pimpleberry. 

"Paul  is  right,1'  said  Judge  Adams.  "I  under- 
stand the  principle.  He  has  done  it  correctly." 

The  Judge  was  proud  of  him.  Mr.  Pimpleberry 
and  Mr.  Funk,  and  several  other  citizens,  were  aston- 
ished ;  for  they  had  no  idea  that  Paul  could  do  any- 
thing of  the  kind.  Notwithstanding  Paul  had  given 
the  true  distance,  he  received  no  thanks  from  any 
one ;  yet  he  did  n't  care  for  that ;  for  he  had  shown 
Mr.  Pimpleberry  that  he  could  do  it,  and  that  was 
glory  enough. 

Paul  loved  fun  as  well  as  ever.  Rare  times  he 
had  at  school.  One  windy  day,  a  little  boy,  when 
he  entered  the  school-room,  left  the  door  open.  "  Go 
back  and  shut  the  door,"  shouted  Mr.  Cipher,  who 
was  very  irritable  that  morning.  Another  boy  en- 
tered, and  left  it  open.  Mr.  Cipher  was  angry,  and 
spoke  to  the  whole  school :  "  Any  one  who  comes 
in  to-day  and  does  not  shut  the  door  will  get  a  flog- 


Hard  Times.  33 

ging.  Now  remember!'  Being  very  awkward  in 
his  manners,  inefficient  in  government,  and  shallow- 
brained  and  vain,  he  commanded  very  little  respect 
from  the  scholars. 

"Boys,  there  is  a  chance  for  us  to  have  a  jolly 
time  with  Cipher,"  said  Paul  at  recess. 

"What  is  it?"  Hans  Middlekauf  asked,  ready  for 
fun  of  any  sort.  The  boys  gathered  round,  for  they 
knew  that  Paul  was  a  capital  hand  in  inventing  games. 

"You  remember  what  Cipher  said  about  leaving 
the  door  open." 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  Hans  Middlekauf  asked.    " 

"  Let  every  one  of  us  show  him  that  we  can  obey 
him.  When  he  raps  for  us  to  go  in,  I  want  you  all 
to  form  in  line.  I  '11  lead  off,  go  in  and  shut  the 
door;  you  follow  next,  Hans,  and  be  sure  and  shut 
the  door ;  you  come  next,  Philip ;  then  Michael, 
and  so  on,  —  every  one  shutting  the  door.  If  you 
don't,  remember  that  Cipher  has  promised  to  flog 
you." 

The  boys  saw  through  the  joke,  and  laughed  heart- 
ily. "  Jingo,  that  is  a  good  one,  Paul.  Cipher  will 
be  as  mad  as  a  March  hare.  I  '11  make  the  old  door 
rattle,"  said  Hans. 

a*  c 


34  Winning  his  Way. 

Rap  —  rap  —  rap  —  rap!  went  the  master's  ruler 
upon  the  window. 

"Fall  into  line,  boys,"  said  Paul.  They  obeyed 
orders  as  if  he  were  a  general.  "  Now  remember, 
every  one  of  you,  to  shut  the  door  just  as  soon  as 
you  are  in.  Do  it  quick,  and  take  your  seats.  Don't 
laugh,  but  be  as  sober  as  deacons."  There  was  gig- 
gling in  the  ranks.  "  Silence ! "  said  Paul.  The  boys 
smoothed  their  faces.  Paul  opened  the  door,  stepped 
in,  and  shut  it  in  an  instant,  —  slam  !  Hans  opened 
it,  —  slam !  it  went,  with  a  jar  which  made  the  win- 
dows rattle.  Philip  followed,  —  slam !  Michael  next, 
-"  bang !  it  went,  jarring  the  house. 

"  Let  the  door  be  open,"  said  Cipher ;  but  Michael 
was  in  his  seat;  and  —  bang!  again, — slam!  —  bang! 

—  slam  !  —  bang  !  it  went. 

"  Let  it  be  open,  I  say ! "  he  roared,  but  the  boys 
outside  did  not  hear  him,  and  it  kept  going,  —  slam  I 

—  slam  !  —  slam  !  —  bang  !  —  bang  !  —  bang  !  —  till 
the  fiftieth  boy  was  in. 

"You  started  that,  sir,"  Cipher  said,  addressing 
Paul,  for  he  had  discovered  that  Paul  Parker  loved 
fun,  and  was  a  leading  spirit  among  the  boys. 

"I  obeyed  your  orders,  sir,"   Paul  replied   ready 


Hard  Times.  35 

to  burst  into  a  roar  at  the  success  of  his  experi- 

% 

merit. 

"Did  you  not  tell  the  boys  to  slam  the  door  as 
hard  as  they  could?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  told  them  to  remember  what  you  had 
said,  and  that,  if  they  did  n't  shut  the  door,  they 
would  get  a  flogging." 

"That  is  just  what  he  said,  Master,"  said  Hans 
Middlekauf,  brimming  over  with  fun.  Cipher  could 
not  dispute  it.  He  saw  that  they  had  literally  obeyed 
his  orders,  and  that  he  had  been  outwitted.  He  did 
not  know  what  to  do  ;  and  being  weak  and  inefficient, 
did  nothing. 

Paul  loved  hunting  and  fishing ;  on  Saturday  after- 
noons he  made  the  woods  ring  with  the  crack  of  his 
grandfather's  gun,  bringing  squirrels  from  the  tallest 
trees,  and  taking  quails  upon  the  wing.  He  was 
quick  to  see,  and  swift  to  take  aim.  He  was  cool 
of  nerve,  and  so  steady  of  aim  that  he  rarely  missed. 
It  was  summer,  and  he  wore  no  shoes.  He  walked 
so  lightly  that  he  scarcely  rustled  a  leaf.  The  par- 
tridges did  not  see  him  till  he  was  close  upon  them, 
and  then,  before  they  could  rise  from  their  cover 
flash!  —  bangl — and  they  went  into  his  bag. 


36  Winning  his  Way. 

One  day  as  he  was  on  his  return  from  the  woods; 
with  the  gun  upon  his  shoulder,  and  the  powder-horn 
at  his  side,  he  saw  a  gathering  of  people  in  the  street. 
Men,  women,  and  children  were  out,  —  the  women 
without  bonnets.  He  wondered  what  was  going  on. 
Some  women  were  wringing  their  hands  ;  and  all 
were  greatly  excited. 

"O  dear,  isn't  it  dreadful!"  "What  will  become 
of  us  ?  "  "  The  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us  1 "  —  were 
the  expressions  which  he  heard.  Then  they  wrung 
their  hands  again,  and  moaned. 

"  What  is  up?"  he  asked  of  Hans  Middlekaul 

"  Have  n't  you  heard  ?" 

"No,  what  is  it?" 

"Why,  there  is  a  big  black  bull-dog,  the  biggest 
that  ever  was,  that  has  run  mad.  He  has  bitten  ever 
so  many  other  dogs,  and  horses,  sheep,  and  cattle, 
He  is  as  big  as  a  bear,  and  froths  at  the  mouth.  He 
is  the  savagest  critter  that  ever  was,"  said  Hans  in 
a  breath. 

"Why  don't  somebody  kill  him?" 

"  They  are  afraid  of  him,"  said  Hans. 

"  I  should  think  they  might  kill  him,"  Paul  re- 
plied. 


Hard  Times.  37 

"  I  reckon  you  would  run  as  fast  as  anybody  else, 
if  he  should  show  himself  round  here,"  said  Hans. 

"  There  he  is  !  Run  !  run  !  run  for  your  lives  ! " 
was  the  sudden  cry. 

Paul  looked  up  the  street,  and  saw  a  very  large 
bull-dog  coming  upon  the  trot  Never  was  there 
such  a  scampering.  People  ran  into  the  nearest 
houses,  pellmell.  One  man  jumped  into  his  wagon, 
lashed  his  horse  into  a  run,  and  went  down  the  street, 
losing  his  hat  in  his  flight,  while  Hans  Middlekauf 
went  up  a  tree. 

"  Run,  Paul  !  Run  !  he  '11  bite  you !  "  cried  Mr. 
Leatherby  from  the  window  of  his  shoe-shop.  People 
looked  out  from  the  windows  and  repeated  the  cry, 
a  half-dozen  at  once  ;  but  Paul  took  no  notice  of 
them  Those  who  were  nearest  him  heard  the  click 
of  his  gun-lock.  The  dog  came  nearer,  growling, 
and  snarling,  his  mouth  wide  open,  showing  his  teeth, 
his  eyes  glaring,  and  white  froth  dripping  from  his 
lips.  Paul  stood  alone  in  the  street.  There  was  a 
sudden  silence.  It  was  a  scene  for  a  painter, — a 
barefoot  boy  in  patched  clothes,  with  an  old  hat  on 
his  head,  standing  calmly  before  the  brute  whose  bite 
was  death  in  its  most  terrible  form.  One  thought 


38  Winning  his  Way. 

had  taken  possession  of  Paul's  mind,  that  he  ought 
to  kill  the  dog. 

Nearer,  nearer,  came  the  dog ;  he  was  not  a  rod 
off.  Paul  had  read  that  no  animal  can  withstand  the 
steady  gaze  of  the  human  eye.  He  looked  the  dog 
steadily  in  the  face.  He  held  his  breath.  Not  a 
nerve  trembled.  The  dog  stopped,  looked  at  Paul 
a  moment,  broke  into  a  louder  growl,  opened  his  jaws 
wider,  his  eyes  glaring  more  wildly,  and  stepped 
slowly  forward.  Now  or  never,  Paul  thought,  was 
his  time.  The  breach  of  the  gun  touched  his 
shoulder  ;  his  eye  ran  along  the  barrel,  —  bang  !  the 
dog  rolled  over  with  a  yelp  and  a  howl,  but  was  up 
again,  growling  and  trying  to  get  at  Paul,  who  in 
an  instant  seized  his  gun  by  the  barrel,  and  brought 
the  breech  down  upon  the  dog's  skull,  giving  him 
blow  after  blow. 

"  Kill  him  !  kill  him  1 "  shouted  the  people  from 
the  windows. 

"  Give  it  to  liim  !  Mash  his  head !  "  cried  Hans 
from  the  tree. 

The  dog  soon  became  a  mangled  and  bloody  mass 
of  flesh  and  bones.  The  people  came  out  from 
their  houses. 


Hard  Times.  39 

*  That  was  well  done  for  a  boy,"  said  Mr.  Funk. 

"  Or  for  a  man  either,"  said  Mr.  Chrome,  who 
came  up  and  patted  Paul  on  his  back. 

"  I  should  have  thrown  my  lapstone  at  him,  if  I 
could  have  got  my  window  open,"  said  Mr.'  Leath- 
erby.  Mr.  Noggin,  the  cooper,  who  had  taken  refuge 
in  Leatherby's  shop,  afterwards  said  that  Leatherby 
was  frightened  half  to  death,  and  kept  saying,  "Just 
as  like  as  not  he  will  make  a  spring  and  dart  right 
through  the  window!" 

"  Nobly,  bravely  done,  Paul,"  said  Judge  Adams. 
"  Let  me  shake  hands  with  you,  my  boy."  He  and 
Mrs.  Adams  and  Azalia  had  seen  it  all  from  their 
parlor  window. 

"  O  Paul,  I  was  afraid  he  would  bite  and  kill  you, 
or  that  your  gun  would  miss  fire.  I  trembled  all 
over  just  like  a  leaf,"  said  Azalia,  still  pale  and 
trembling.  "  O,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  killed  him  1 " 
She  looked  up  into  his  face  earnestly,  and  there  was 
such  a  light  in  her  eyes,  that  Paul  was  glad  he  had 
killed  the  dog,  for  her  sake. 

"  Were  n't  you  afraid,  Paul  ? "  she  asked. 

"  No.  If  I  had  been  afraid,  I  should  have  missed 
him,  perhaps ;  I  made  up  my  mind  to  kill  him,  and 
what  was  the  use  of  being  afraid?" 


4O  Winning"  his  Way. 

Many  were  the  praises  bestowed  upon  Paul 
"  How  noble  1  how  heroic  I "  the  people  said.  Hans 
told  the  story  to  all  the  boys  in  the  village.  <rPaul 
was  just  as  cool  as  —  cool  as  —  a  cucumber,"  he 
said,  that  being  the  best  comparison  he  could  think 
of.  The  people  came  and  looked  at  the  dog,  to 
see  how  large  he  was,  and  how  savage,  and  went 
away  saying,  "  I  am  glad  he  is  dead,  but  I  don't  see 
how  Paul  had  the  courage  to  face  him." 

Paul  went  home  and  told  his  mother  what  had 
happened.  She  turned  pale  while  listening  to  the 
story,  and  held  her  breath,  and  clasped  her  hands; 
but  when  he  had  finished,  and  when  she  thought 
that,  if  Paul  had  not  killed  the  dog,  many  might 
have  been  bitten,  she  was  glad,  and  said,  "  You  did 
right,  my  son.  It  is  our  duty  to  face  danger  if  we 
can  do  good."  A  tear  glistened  in  her  eye  as  she 
kissed  him.  "  God  bless  you,  Paul,"  she  said,  and 
smiled  upon  him  through  her  tears. 

All  the  dogs  which  had  been  bitten  were  killed  to 
prevent  them  from  running  mad.  A  hard  time  of 
it  the  dogs  of  New  Hope  had,  for  some  which  had 
not  been  bitten  did  not  escape  the  dog-killers,  who 
went  through  the  town  knocking  them  over  with 
clubs. 


Hard  Times.  41 

Although  Paul  was  so  cool  and  courageous  in  the 
moment  of  danger,  he  trembled  and  felt  weak  after- 
wards when  he  thought  of  the  risk  he  had  run.  That 
night  when  he  said  his  evening  prayer,  he  thanked 
God  for  having  protected  him.  He  dreamed  it  all 
over  again  in  the  night.  He  saw  the  dog  coming 
at  him  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  the  froth  dropping 
from  his  lips,  and  his  eyes  glaring.  He  heard  his 
growl,  —  only  it  was  not  a  growl,  but  a  branch  of 
the  old  maple  which  rubbed  against  the  house  when 
the  wind  blew.  That  was  what  set  him  a  dreaming. 
In  his  dream  he  had  no  gun,  so  he  picked  up  the 
first  thing  he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  and  let  drjve  at 
the  dog.  Smash!  there  was  a  great  racket,  and  a 
jingling  of  glass.  Paul  was  awake  in  an  instant, 
and  found  that  he  had  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  that  he  had 
knocked  over  the  spinning-wheel,  and  a  lot  of  old 
trumpery,  and  had  thrown  one  of  his  grandfather's 
old  boots  through  the  window. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  up  to,  Paul  ? "  his 
mother  asked,  calling  from  the  room  below,  in  alarm. 

"Killing  the  dog  a  second  time,  mother,"  Paul 
replied,  laughing  and  jumping  into  bed  again. 


42  Winning  his  Way. 


CHAPTER   III. 

MERRY  TIMES. 

WHEN  the  long  northeast  storms  set  in,  and 
the  misty  clouds  hung  over  the  valley,  and 
went  hurrying  away  to  the  west,  brushing  the  tops  of 
the  trees;  when  the  rain,  hour  after  hour,  and  day 
after  day,  fell  aslant  upon  the  roof  of  the  little  old 
house ;  when  the  wind  swept  around  the  eaves,  and 
dashed  in  wild  gusts  against  the  windows,  and  moaned 
and  wailed  in  the  forests,  —  then  it  was  that  Paul 
sometimes  felt  his  spirits  droop,  for  the  circumstances 
of  life  were  all  against  him.  He  was  poor.  His 
dear,  kind  mother  was  sick.  She  had  worked  day 
and  night  to  keep  that  terrible  wolf  from  the  door, 
which  is  always  prowling  around  the  houses  of  poor 
people.  But  the  wolf  had  come,  and  was  looking  in 
at  the  windows.  There  was  a  debt  due  Mr.  Funk  for 
rice,  sugar,  biscuit,  tea,  and  other  things  which  Doctor 
Arnica  said  his  mother  must  have.  There  was  the 
doctor's  bill.  The  flour-barrel  was  getting  low,  and 
the  meal-bag  was  almost  empty.  Paul  saw  the  wolf 


Merry  Times.  43 

every  night  as  he  lay  in  his  bed,  and  he  wished  he 
could  kill  it 

When  his  mother  was  taken  sick,  he  left  school  and 
became  her  nurse.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  lay  down 
his  books,  for  he  loved  them,  but  it  •  was  pleasant  to 
wait  upon  her.  The  neighbors  were  kind.  Azalia 
Adams  often  came  tripping  in  with  something  nice,  — 
a  tumbler  of  jelly,  or  a  plate  of  toast,  which  her 
mother  had  prepared;  and  she  had  such  cheerful 
words,  and  spoke  so  pleasantly,  and  moved  round  the 
room  so  softly,  putting  everything  in  order,  that  the 
room  was  lighter,  even  on  the  darkest  days,  for  her 
presence. 

When,  after  weeks  of  confinement  to  her  bed, 
Paul's  mother  was  strong  enough  to  sit  in  her 
easy-chair,  Paul  went  out  to  fight  the  wolf.  He 
worked  for  Mr.  Middlekauf,  in  his  cornfield.  He 
helped  Mr.  Chrome  paint  wagons.  He  surveyed 
land,  and  ran  lines  for  the  farmers,  earning  a  little 
here  and  a  little  there.  As  fast  as  he  obtained  a  dol- 
lar, it  went  to  pay  the  debts.  As  the  seasons  passed 
away,  —  spring,  summer,  and  autumn,  —  Paul  could 
see  that  the  wolf  howled  less  fiercely  day  by  day.  He 
denied  himself  everything,  except  plain  food.  He 


44  Winning  his  Way, 

was  tall,  stout,  hearty,  and  rugged.  The  winds  gave 
him  health ;  his  hands  were  hard,  but  his  heart  was 
tender.  When  through  with  his  day's  work,  though 
his  bones  ached  and  his  eyes  were  drowsy,  he  seldom 
went  to  sleep  without  first  studying  awhile,  and  clos- 
ing with  a  chapter  from  the  Bible,  for  he  remembered 
what  his  grandfather  often  said,  —  that  a  chapter  from 
the  Bible  was  a  good  thing  to  sleep  on. 

The  cool  and  bracing  breezes  of  November,  the 
nourishing  food  which  Paul  obtained,  brought  the 
color  once  more  to  his  mother's  cheeks  ;  and  when  at 
length  she  was  able  to  be  about  the  house,  they  had  a 
jubilee,  —  a  glad  day  of  thanksgiving,  —  for,  in  addi- 
tion to  this  blessing  of  health,  Paul  had  killed  the 
wolf,  and  the  debts  were  all  paid. 

As  the  winter  came  on,  the  subject  of  employing 
Mr.  Rhythm  to  teach  a  singing-school  was  discussed. 
Mr.  Quaver,  a  tall,  slim  man,  with  a  long,  red  nose, 
had  led  the  choir  for  many  years.  He  had  a  loud 
voice,  and  twisted  his  words  so  badly,  that  his  singing 
was  like  the  blare  of  a  trumpet.  On  Sundays,  after 
Rev.  Mr.  Surplice  read  the  hymn,  the  people  were 
accustomed  to  hear  a  loud  Hawk !  from  Mr.  Quaver, 
as  he  tossed  his  tobacco-quid  into  a  spittoon,  and  an 


Merry  Times.  45 

Ahem !  from  Miss  Gamut.  She  was  the  leading  first 
treble,  a  small  lady  with  a  sharp,  shrill  voice.  Then 
Mr.  Fiddleman  sounded  the  key  on  the  bass-viol,  do- 
mi-sol-do,  helping  the  trebles  and  tenors  climb  the 
stairs  of  the  scale ;  then  he  hopped  down  again,  and 
rounded  off  with  a  thundering  swell  at  the  bottom, 
to  let  them  know  he  was  safely  down,  and  ready 
to  go  ahead.  Mr.  Quaver  led,  and  the  choir  followed 
like  sheep,  all  in  their  own  way  and  fashion. 

The  people  had  listened  to  this  style  of  music  till 
they  were  tired  of  it.  They  wanted  a  change,  and 
decided  to  engage  Mr.  Rhythm,  a  nice  young  man, 
to  teach  a  singing-school  for  the  young  folks.  "We 
have  a  hundred  boys  and  girls  here  in  the  village, 
who  ought  to  learn  to  sing,  so  that  they  can  sit  in 
the  singing-seats,  and  praise  God,"  said  Judge 
Adams, 

But  Mr.  Quaver  opposed  the  project.  "  The  young 
folks  want  a  frolic,  sir,'*  he  said ;  "  yes,  sir,  a  frolic, 
a  high  time.  Rhythm  will  be  teaching  them  new- 
fangled notions.  You  know,  Judge,  that  I  hate 
flummididdles ;  I  go  for  the  good  old  things,  sir. 
The  old  tunes  which  have  stood  the  wear  and  tea* 
of  time,  and  the  good  old  style  of  singing,  sir." 


46  Winning  his   Way. 

Mr.  Quaver  did  not  say  all  he  thought,  for  he 
could  see  that,  if  the  singing-school  was  kept,  he 
would  be  in  danger  of  losing  his  position  as  chorister. 
But,  notwithstanding  his  opposition,  Mr.  Rhythm  was 
engaged  to  teach  the  school.  Paul  determined  to 
attend.  He  loved  music. 

"  You  have  n't  any  coat  fit  to  wear,"  said  his 
mother.  "  I  have  altered  over  your  grandfather's 
pants  and  vest  for  you,  but  I  cannot  alter  his  coat. 
You  will  have  to  stay  at  home,  I  guess." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  mother,  for  Mr.  Rhythm  is  one 
of  the  best  teachers  that  ever  was,  and  I  don't  want 
to  miss  the  chance.  I  '11  wear  grandpa's  coat  just 
as  it  is." 

"The  school  will  laugh  at  you." 

"  Well,  let  them  laugh,  I  sha'n't  stay  at  home  for 
that.  I  guess  I  can  stand  it,"  said  Paul,  reso- 
lutely. 

The  evening  fixed  upon  for  the  school  to  com- 
mence arrived.  All  the  young  folks  in  the  town 
were  there.  Those  who  lived  out  of  the  village,  — 
the  farmers'  sons  and  daughters, —  came  in  led, 
yellow,  and  green  wagons.  The  girls  wore  close- 
fitting  hoods  with  pink  lin:ngs,  which  they  called 


Merry  Times.  47 

*  kiss-me-if-ye-dares."  Their  cheeks  were  all  aglow 
with  the  excitement  of  the  occasion.  When  they 
saw  Mr.  Rhythm,  how  pleasant  and  smiling  he  was, 
—  when  they  heard  his  voice,  so  sweet  and  melo- 
dious, —  when  they  saw  how  spryly  he  walked,  as  if 
he  meant  to  accomplish  what  he  had  undertaken,  — 
they  said  to  one  another,  "  How  different  he  is 
from  Mr.  Quaver!" 

Paul  was  late  on  the  first  evening;  for  when  he 
put  on  his  grandfather's  coat,  his  mother  planned 
a  long  while  to  see  if  there  was  not  some  way  by 
which  she  could  make  it  look  better.  Once  she 
took  the  shears  and  was  going  to  cut  off  the  tail, 
but  Paul  stopped  her.  "  I  don't  want  it  curtailed, 
mother." 

"  It  makes  you  look  like  a  little  old  man,  Paul ; 
I  would  n't  go." 

"  If  I  had  better  clothes,  I  should  wear  them, 
mother ;  but  as  I  have  n't,  I  shall  wear  these.  I 
hope  to  earn  money  enough  some  time  to  get  a 
better  coat;  but  grandpa  wore  this,  and  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  wear  what  he  wore,"  he  replied,  more 
resolute  than  ever.  Perhaps,  if  he  could  have  seen 
how  he  looked,  he  would  not  have  been  quite  so 


48  Winning  his   Way. 

determined,  for  the  sleeves  hung  like  bags  on  his 
arms,  and  the  tail  almost  touched  the  floor. 

Mr.  Rhythm  had  just  rapped  the  scholars  to  their 
seats  when  Paul  entered.  There  was  a  tittering,  a 
giggle,  then  a  roar  of  laughter.  Mr.  Rhythm  looked 
round  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  smiled.  For 
a  moment  Paul's  courage  failed  him.  It  was  not 
so  easy  to  be  laughed  at  as  he  had  imagined.  He 
was  all  but  ready  to  turn  about  and  leave  the  room. 
"  No  I  won't,  I  '11  face  it  out,"  he  said  to  himself, 
walking  deliberately  to  a  seat,  and  looking  bravely 
round,  as  if  asking,  "  What  are  you  laughing  at  ? " 

There  was  something  in  his  manner  which  in- 
stantly won  Mr.  Rhythm's  respect,  and  which  made 
him  ashamed  of  himself  for  having  laughed.  "  Si- 
lence! No  more  laughing,"  he  said;  but,  notwith- 
standing the  command,  there  was  a  constant  titter- 
ing among  the  girls.  Mr.  Rhythm  began  by  saying, 
"We  will  sing  Old  Hundred.  I  want  you  all  to 
sing,  whether  you  can  sing  right  or  not."  He  snapped 
his  tuning-fork,  and  began.  The  school  followed, 
each  one  singing,  —  putting  in  sharps,  flats,  naturals, 
notes,  and  rests,  just  as  they  pleased.  "  Very  well 
Good  volume  of  sound.  Only  I  don't  think  Old 


Merry  Times.  49 

Hundred  ever  was  sung  so  before,  or  ever  will  be 
again,"  said  the  master,  smiling. 

Michael  Murphy  was  confident  that  he  sang  glori- 
ously, though  he  never  varied  his  tone  up  or  down. 
He  was  ciphering  in  fractions  at  school,  and  what 
most  puzzled  him  were  the  figures  set  to  the  bass. 
He  wondered  if  £  was  a  vulgar  fraction,  and  if  so, 
he  thought  it  would  be  better  to  express  it  as  a  mixed 
number,  ij. 

During  the  evening,  Mr.  Rhythm,  noticing  that 
Michael  sang  without  any  variation  of  tone,  said, 
"Now,  Master  Murphy,  please  sing  la  with  me";  — 
and  Michael  sang  bravely,  not  frightened  in  the 
least. 

"  Very  well.     Now  please  sing  it  a  little  higher." 

"  La?  sang  Michael  on  the  same  pitch,  but  louder. 

"  Not  louder,  but  higher." 

"LAl"  responded  Michael,  still  louder,  but  with 
the  pitch  unchanged. 

There  was  tittering  among  the  girls. 

"Not  so,  but  thus,"  —  and  Mr.  Rhythm  gave  an 
example,  first  low,  then  high.  "Now  once  more." 

"LA!"   bellowed  Michael  on  the  sane  pitch. 

Daphne  Dare  giggled  aloud,  and  the  "laughter,  like 
3  » 


50  Winning-  his  Way. 

a  train  of  powder,  ran  through  the  girls'  seats  over 
to  the  boys'  side  of  the  house,  where  it  exploded  in 
a  loud  haw!  haw!  Michael  laughed  with  the  oth- 
ers, but  he  did  not  know  what  for. 

Recess  came.  "  Halloo,  Grandpa !  How  are  you, 
Old  Pensioner  ?  Your  coat  puckers  under  the  arms, 
and  there  is  a  wrinkle  in  the  back,"  said  Philip  Funk 
to  Paul.  His  sister  Fanny  pointed  her  finger  at  him ; 
and  Paul  heard  her  whisper  to  one  of  the  girls,  "  Did 
you  ever  see  such  a  monkey?" 

It  nettled  him,  and  so,  losing  his  temper,  he  said 
to  Philip,  "Mind  your  business." 

"Just  hear  Grandaddy  Parker,  the  old  gentleman 
in  the  bob-tailed  coat,"  said  Philip. 

"  You  are  a  puppy,"  said  Paul.  But  he  was  vexed 
with  himself  for  having  said  it.  If  he  had  held  his 
tongue,  and  kept  his  temper,  and  braved  the  sneers 
of  Philip  in  silence,  he  might  have  won  a  victory; 
for  he  remembered  a  Sunday-school  lesson  upon  the 
text,  "He  that  ruleth  his  spirit  is  greater  than  he 
that  taketh  a  city."  As  it  was,  he  had  suffered  a 
defeat,  and  went  home  that  night  disgusted  with 
himself. 

Pleasant  were  those  singing-school  evenings.     Un 


Merry  Times.  51 

der  Mr.  Rhythm's  instructions  the  young  people  made 
rapid  progress.  Then  what  fine  times  they  had  at 
recess,  eating  nuts,  apples,  and  confectionery,  pick- 
ing out  the  love-rhymes  from  the  sugar-cockles  ! 

"  I  cannot  tell  the  love 
I  feel  for  you,  my  dove.*' 

was  Philip's  gift  to  Azalia.  Paul  had  no  money  to 
purchase  sweet  things  at  the  store ;  his  presents  were 
nuts  which  he  had  gathered  in  the  autumn.  In  the 
kindness  of  his  heart  he  gave  a  double-handful  to 
Philip's  sister,  Fanny;  but  she  turned  up  her  nose, 
and  let  them  drop  upon  the  floor. 

Society  in  New  Hope  was  mixed.  Judge  Adams, 
Colonel  Dare,  and  Mr.  Funk  were  rich  men.  Colonel 
Dare  was  said  to  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars. No  one  knew  what  Mr.  Funk  was  worth;  but 
he  had  a  store,  and  a  distillery,  which  kept  smoking 
day  and  night  and  Sunday,  without  cessation,  grind- 
ing up  corn,  and  ^distilling  it  into  whiskey.  There 
was  always  a  great  black  smoke  rising  from  the  dis- 
tillery-chimney. The  fires  were  always  roaring,  and 
the  great  vats  steaming.  Colonel  Daie  made  his 
money  by  buying  and  selling  land,  wool,  corn,  and 
cattle.  Judge  Adams  was  an  able  lawyer,  known  far 


52  Winning  his   Way. 

and  near  as  honest,  upright,  and  learned.  He  had 
a  large  practice ;  but  though  the  Judge  and  Colonel 
were  so  wealthy,  and  lived  in  fine  houses,  they  did 
not  feel  that  they  were  better  than  their  neighbors* 
so  that  there  was  no  aristocracy  in  the  place,  but 
the  rich  and  the  poor  were  alike  respected  and  es- 
teemed. 

The  New  Year  was  at  hand,  and  Daphne  Dare 
was  to  give  a  party.  She  was  Colonel  Dare's  only 
child,  —  a  laughing,  blue-eyed,  sensible  girl,  who  at- 
tended the  village  school,  and  was  in  the  same  class 
with  Paul. 

"Whom  shall  I  invite  to  my  party,  father?"  she 
asked. 

"  Just  whom  you  please,  my  dear,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  inviting  Paul 
Parker.  Fanny  Funk  says  she  don't  want  to  associate 
with  a  fellow  who  is  so  poor  that  he  wears  his  grand- 
father's old  clothes,"  said  Daphne. 

"  Poverty  is  not  a  crime,  my  daughter.  I  was  poor 
once,  —  poor  as  Paul  is.  Money  is  not  virtue,  my 
dear.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  have ;  but  persons  are 
not  necessarily  bad  because  they  are  poor,  neither 
are  they  good  because  they  are  rich,"  said  the  Colonel. 


Merry  Times.  53 

"  Should  you  invite  him,  father,  if  you  were  in  my 
place?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  say,  my  child,  for  I  want  you 
to  decide  the  matter  yourself." 

"  Azalia  says  that  she  would  invite  him ;  but  Fanny 
says  that  if  I  invite  him,  she  shall  not  come." 

"  Aha ! "  The  Colonel  opened  his  eyes  wide. 
"  Well,  my  dear,  you  are  not  to  be  influenced  wholly 
by  what  Azalia  says,  and  you  are  to  pay  no  atten- 
tion to  what  Fanny  threatens.  You  make  the  party, 
You  have  a  perfect  right  to  invite  whom  you  please ; 
and  if  Fanny  don't  choose  to  come,  she  has  the  privi- 
lege of  staying  away.  I  think,  however,  that  she 
will  not  be  likely  to  stay  at  home  even  if  you  give 
Paul  an  invitation.  Be  guided  by  your  own  sense 
of  right,  my  darling.  That  is  the  best  guide." 

"  I  wish  you  'd  give  Paul  a  coat,  father.  You  can 
afford  to,  can't  you?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  can't  afford  to  receive  it."  Daphne 
looked  at  her  father  in  amazement  "  He  can't  afford 
to  receive  such  a  gift  from  me,  because  it  is  bettei 
for  him  to  fight  the  battle  of  life  without  any  help 
from  me  or  anybody  else  at  present.  A  good  man 
offered  to  help  me  when  I  was  a  poor  boy;  but  I 


54  Winning  his  Way. 

thanked  him,  and  said,  '  No,  sir.'  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  cut  my  own  way,  and  I  guess  Paul  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  do  the  same  thing,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  I  shall  invite  him.  I  '11  let  Fanny  know  that  I 
have  a  mind  of  my  own,"  said  Daphne,  with  deter- 
mination in  her  voice. 

Her  father  kissed  her,  but  kept  his  thoughts  to 
himself.  He  appeared  to  be  pleased,  and  Daphne 
thought  that  he  approved  her  decision. 

The  day  before  New  Year  Paul  received  a  neatly 
folded  note,  addressed  to  Mr.  Paul  Parker.  How 
funny  it  looked  !  It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life 
that  he  had  seen  "Mr."  prefixed  to  his  name.  He 
opened  it,  and  read  that  Miss  Daphne  Dare  would 
receive  her  friends  on  New  Year's  eve  at  seven 
o'clock.  A  great  many  thoughts  passed  through  his 
mind.  How  could  he  go  and  wear  his  grandfather's 
coat?  At  school  he  was  on  equal  footing  with  all; 
but  to  be  one  of  a  party  in  a  richly  furnished  parlor, 
where  Philip,  Fanny,  and  Azalia,  and  other  boys  and 
girls  whose  fathers  had  money,  could  turn  their  backs 
on  him  and  snub  him,  was  very  different.  It  was 
very  kind  in  Daphne  to  invite  him,  and  ought  he 
not  to  accept  her  invitation?  Would  she  not  think 


Merry  Times.  55 

it  a  slight  if  he  did  not  go  ?  What  excuse  could 
he  offer  if  he  stayed  away  ?  None,  except  that  he 
had  no  nice  clothes.  But  she  knew  that,  yet  she  had 
invited  him.  She  was  a  true-hearted  girl,  and  would 
not  have  asked  him  if  she  had  not  wanted  him. 
Thus  he  turned  the  matter  over,  and  decided  to 

go- 
But  when  the  time  came,  Paul  was  in  no  haste  to 

be  there.  Two  or  three  times  his  heart  failed  him, 
while  on  his  way ;  but  looking  across  the  square,  and 
seeing  Colonel  Dare's  house  all  aglow,  —  lights  in 
the  parlors  and  chambers,  he  pushed  on  resolutely, 
determined  to  be  manly,  notwithstanding  his  poverty. 
He  reached  the  house,  rang  the  bell,  and  was  wel- 
comed by  Daphne  in  the  hall. 

"  Good  evening,  Paul.  You  are  very  late.  I  was 
afraid  you  were  not  coming.  All  the  others  are  hwe," 
she  said,  her  face  beaming  with  happiness,  joy,  and 
excitement.  She  was  elegantly  dressed,  for  she  was 
her  father's  pet,  and  he  bought  everything  for  her 
which  he  thought  would  make  her  happy. 

"  Better  late, than  never,  is  n't  it  ? "  said  Paul,  not 
knowing  what  else  to  say. 

Although  the  party  had  been  assembled  nearly  an 


56  Winning  his  Way. 

hour,  there  had  been  no  games.  The  girls  were  hud- 
dled in  groups  on  one  side  of  the  room,  and  the  boys 
on  the  other,  all  shy,  timid,  and  waiting  for  somebody 
to  break  the  ice.  Azalia  was  playing  the  piano,  while 
Philip  stood  by  her  side.  He  was  dressed  in  a  new 
suit  of  broadcloth,  and  wore  an  eye-glass.  Fanny 
was  present,  though  she  had  threatened  not  to  attend 
if  Paul  was  invited.  She  had  changed  her  mind. 
She  thought  it  would  be  better  to  attend  and  make 
the  place  too  hot  for  Paul ;  she  would  get  up  such  a 
laugh  upon  him  that  he  would  be  glad  to  take  his  hat 
and  sneak  away,  and  never  show  himself  in  respecta- 
ble society  again.  Philip  was  in  the  secret,  and  so 
were  a  dozen  others  who  looked  up  to  Philip  and 
Fanny.  Daphne  entered  the  parlor,  followed  by  Paul. 
There  was  a  sudden  tittering,  snickering,  and  laugh- 
ing. *  Paul  stopped  and  bowed,  then  stood  erect. 

"  I  declare,  if  there  is  n't  old  Grandaddy,"  said 
Philip,  squinting  through  his  eye-glass. 

"  O  my !  how  funny ! "  said  a  girl  from  Fairview. 

"  Ridiculous  1  It  is  a  shame  1 "  said  Fanny,  turn- 
ing *ip  her  nose. 

'*  Who  is  he  ? "  the  Fairview  girl  asked. 

"  A  poor  fellow  who  lives  on  charity,  —  so  poor  that 


Merry  Times.  57 

he  wears  his  grandfather's  old  clothes.     We  don't  as- 
sociate with  him,"  was  Fanny's  reply. 

Paul  heard  it  His  cheek  flushed,  but  he  stood 
there,  determined  to  brave  it  out.  Azalia  heard  and 
saw  it  all.  She  stopped  playing  in  the  middle  of  a 
measure,  rose  from  her  seat  with  her  cheeks  all 
aflame,  and  walked  towards  Paul,  extending  her 
hand  and  welcoming  him.  "I  am  glad  you  have 
come,  Paul.  We  want  you  to  wake  us  up.  We  have 
been  half  asleep,"  she  said. 

The  laughter  ceased  instantly,  for  Azalia  was 
queen  among  them.  Beautiful  in  form  and  feature, 
her  chestnut  hair  falling  in  luxuriant  curls  upon  her 
shoulders,  her  dark  hazel  eyes  flashing  indignantly, 
her  cheeks  like  blush-roses,  every  feature  of  her 
countenance  lighted  up  by  the  excitement  of  the 
moment,  her  bearing  subdued  the  conspiracy  at 
once,  hushing  the  derisive  laughter,  and  compelling 
respect,  not  only  for  herself,  but  for  Paul.  It  re- 
quired an  effort  on  his  part  to  keep  back  the  tears 
from  his  eyes,  so  grateful  was  he  for  her  kind- 
ness. 

"Yes,  Paul,  we  want  you  to  be  our  general,  and 
tell  us  what  to  do,"  said  Daphne. 
3» 


58  Winning  his  Way. 

"Very  well,  let  us  have  Copenhagen  to  begin 
with,"  he  said. 

The  ice  was  broken.  Daphne  brought  in  her 
mother's  clothes-line,  the  chairs  were  taken  from  the 
room,  and  in  five  minutes  the  parlor  was  humming 
like  a  beehive. 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  can  find  to  like  in  that  dis- 
agreeable creature,"  said  Philip  to  Azalia. 

"He  is  a  good  scholar,  and  kind  to  his  mother, 
and  you  know  how  courageous  he  was  when  he 
killed  that  terrible  dog,"  was  her  reply. 

"I  think  he  is  an  impudent  puppy.  What  right 
has  he  to  thrust  himself  into  good  company,  wear- 
ing his  grandfather's  old  clothes  ? "  Philip  responded, 
dangling  his  eye-glass  and  running  his  soft  hand 
through  his  hair. 

"Paul  is  poor;  but  I  never  have  heard  anything 
against  his  character,"  said  Azalia. 

"Poor  folks  ought  to  be  kept  out  of  good  soci- 
ety," said  Philip. 

"What  do  you  say  to  that  picture?"  said  Azalia, 
directing  his  attention  towards  a  magnificent  picture 
of  Franklin  crowned  with  laurel  by  the  ladies  of 
the^gourt  of  France,  which  hung  on  the  wall.  "  Ben- 


Merry  Times.  59 

jamin  Franklin  was  a  poor  boy,  and  dipped  candles 
for  a  living;  but  he  became  a  great  man." 

"Dipped  candles!  Why,  I  never  heard  of  that 
before,"  said  Philip,  looking  at  the  engraving  through 
his  eye-glass. 

"I  don't  think  it  is  any  disgrace  to  Paul  to  be 
poor.  I  am  glad  that  Daphne  invited  him,"  said 
Azalia,  so  resolutely  that  Philip  remained  silent.  He 
was  shallow-brained  and  ignorant,  and  thought  it  not 
best  to  hazard  an  exposure  of  his  ignorance  by  pur- 
suing the  conversation. 

After  Copenhagen  they  had  Fox  and  Geese,  and 
Blind-man's-buff.  They  guessed  riddles  and  conun- 
drums, had  magic  writing,  questions  and  answers, 
and  made  the  parlor,  the  sitting-room,  the  spacious 
halls,  and  the  wide  stairway  ring  with  their  merry 
laughter.  How  pleasant  the  hours  !  Time  flew  on 
swiftest  wings.  They  had  a  nice  supper,  —  sand- 
wiches, tongue,  ham,  cakes,  custards,  floating-islands, 
apples,  and  nuts.  After  supper  they  had  stories, 
serious  and  laughable,  about  ghosts  and  witches,  till 
the  clock  in  the  dining-room  held  up  both  of  its 
hands  and  pointed  to  the  figure  twelve,  as  if  in 
amazement  at  their  late  staying.  "  Twelve  o'clock  I 


60  Winning  his  Way.. 

Why,  how  short  the  evening  has  been!"  said  they, 
when  they  found  how  late  it  was.  They  had  forgotten 
all  about  Paul's  coat,  for  he  had  been  the  life  of  the 
party,  suggesting  something  new  when  the  games 
lagged.  He  was  so  gentlemanly,  and  laughed  so 
heartily  and  pleasantly,  and  was  so  wide  awake,  and 
managed  everything  so  well,  that,  notwithstanding 
the  conspiracy  to  put  him  down,  he  had  won  the 
good  will  of  all  the  party. 

During  the.  evening  Colonel  Dare  and  Mrs.  Dare 
entered  the  room.  The  Colonel  shook  hands  with 
Paul,  and  said,  "  I  am  very  happy  to  see  you  here 
to-night,  Paul."  It  was  spoken  so  heartily  and 
pleasantly  that  Paul  knew  the  Colonel  meant  it 

The  young  gentlemen  were  to  wait  upon  the 
young  ladies  home.  Their  hearts  went  pit-a-pat 
They  thought  over  whom  to  ask  and  what  to  say. 
They  walked  nervously  about  the  hall,  pulling  on 
their  gloves,  while  the  girls  were  putting  on  their 
cloaks  and  hoods  up  stairs.  They  also  were  in  a 
fever  of  expectation  and  excitement,  whispering  mys- 
teriously, their  hearts  going  like  trip-hammers. 

Daphne  stood  by  the  door  to  bid  her  guests  good 
Bight  "  I  am  very  glad  that  you  came  to-night^ 


Merry  Times.  61 

Paul,"  she  said,  pressing  his  hand  in  gratitude,  •'  I 
don't  know  what  we  should  have  done  without  you." 

"  I  have  passed  a  very  pleasant  evening,"  he 
replied. 

Azalia  came  tripping  down  the  stairs.  "  Shall  I 
see  you  home,  Azalia?"  Paul  asked. 

"  Miss  Adams,  shall  I  have  the  delightful  pleasure 
of  being  permitted  to  escort  you  to  your  residence  ? " 
said  Philip,  with  his  most  gallant  air,  at  the  same 
time  pushing  by  Paul  with  a  contemptuous  look. 

"  Thank  you,  Philip,  but  I  have  an  escort,"  said 
Azalia,  accepting  Paul's  arm. 

The  night  was  frosty  and  cold,  though  it  was  clear 
and  pleasant.  The  full  moon  was  high  in  the  heav- 
ens, the  air  was  still,  and  there  were  no  sounds 
to  break  the  peaceful  silence,  except  the  water  dash 
ing  over  the  dam  by  the  mill,  the  footsteps  of  the 
departing  guests  upon  the  frozen  ground,  and  the 
echoing  of  their  voices.  Now  that  he  was  with 
Azalia  alone,  Paul  wanted  to  tell  her  how  grateful 
he  was  for  all  she  had  done  for  him  ;  but  he  could 
only  say,  "I  thank  you,  Azalia,  for  your  kindness 
to  me  to-night." 

"  O,  don't  mention  it,  Paul ;  I  am  glad  if  I  have 
helped  you.  Good  night1' 


62  Winning  his  Way. 

How  light-hearted  he  was  I  He  went  home,  and 
climbed  the  creaking  stairway,  to  his  chamber.  The 
moon  looked  in  upon  him,  and  smiled.  He  could 
not  sleep,  so  happy  was  he.  How  sweet  those 
parting  words  !  The  water  babbled  them  to  the 
rocks,  and  beyond  the  river  in  the  grand  old  forest, 
where  the  breezes  were  blowing,  there  was  a  pleasant 
murmuring  of  voices,  as  if  the  elms  and  oaks  were 
having  a  party,  and  all  were  saying,  "  We  are  glad 
if  we  have  helped  you." 


Music  and  Painting.  6) 

CHAPTER    IV. 

MUSIC    AND    PAINTING. 

PHILIP  went  home  alone  from  the  party,  out  of 
sorts  with  himself,  angry  with  Azalia,  and  boil- 
ing over  with  wrath  toward  Paul.  He  set  his  teeth 
together,  and  clenched  his  fist.  He  would  like  to 
blacken  Paul's  eyes  and  flatten  his  nose.  The  words 
of  Azalia  —  "I  know  nothing  against  Paul's  charac- 
ter "  —  rang  in  his  ears  and  vexed  him.  He  thought 
upon  them  till  his  steps,  falling  upon  the  frozen 
ground,  seemed  to  say,  "  Character  !  —  character  !  — 
character  1 "  as  if  Paul  had  something  which  he  had 
not. 

"  So  because  he  has  character,  and  I  have  n't,  you 
give  me  the  mitten,  do  you,  Miss  Azalia  ? "  he  said, 
as  if  he  was  addressing  Azalia. 

He  knew  that  Paul  had  a  good  name.  He  was 
the  best  singer  in  the  singing-school,  and  Mr.  Rhythm 
often  called  upon  him  to  sing  in  a  duet  with  Azalia 
or  Daphne.  Sometimes  he  sang  a  solo  so  well, 
that  the  spectators  whispered  to  one  another,  that, 


64  Winning  his  Way. 

if  Paul  went  on  as  he  had  begun,  he  would  be  ahead 
of  Mr.  Rhythm. 

Philip  had  left  the  singing-school.  It  was  dull 
music  to  him  to  sit  through  the  evening,  and  say 
$5  Down,  left,  right,  up,"  and  be  drilled,  hour  after 
hour.  It  was  vastly  more  agreeable  to  lounge  in  C  .e 
bar-room  of  the  tavern,  with  a  half-dozen  good  fel- 
lows, smoking  cigars,  playing  cards,  taking  a  drink 
of  whiskey,  and,  when  it  was  time  for  the  singing- 
school  to  break  up,  go  home  with  the  girls,  then 
return  to  the  tavern  and  carouse  till  midnight  or 
later.  To  be  cut  out  by  Paul  in  his  attentions  to 
Azalia  was  intolerable. 

"  Character !  —  character !  —  character ! "  said  his 
boots  all  the  while  as  he  walked.  He  stopped  short, 
and  ground  his  heels  into  the  frozen  earth.  He 
was  in  front  of  Miss  Dobb's  house. 

Miss  Dobb  was  a  middle-aged  lady,  who  wore  spec- 
tacles, had  a  sharp  nose,  a  peaked  chin,  a  pinched- 
up  mouth,  thin  cheeks,  and  long,  bony  fingers.  She 
kept  the  village  school  when  Paul  and  Philip  were 
small  boys,  and  Paul  used  to  think  that  she  wanted 
to  pick  him  to  pieces,  her  fingers  were  so  long  and 
bony.  She  knew  pretty  much  all  that  was  going 


Music  and  Painting.  65 

on  in  the  village,  for  she  visited  somewhere  every 
afternoon  to  find  out  what  had  happened.  Captain 
Binnacle  called  her  the  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  You  are  the  cause  of  my  being  jilted,  you  tattling 
old  maid ;  you  have  told  that  I  was  a  good-for-noth- 
ing scapegrace,  and  I  '11  pay  you  for  it,"  said  Philip, 
shaking  his  fist  at  the  house ;  and  walked  on  again, 
meditating  how  to  do  it,  his  boots  at  each  successive 
step  saying,  "  Character !  character  I " 

He  went  home  and  tossed  all  night  in  his  bed,  not 
getting  a  wink  of  sleep,  planning  how  to  pay  Miss 
Dobb,  and  upset  Paul. 

The  next  night  Philip  went  to  bed  earlier  than 
usual,  saying,  with  a  yawn,  as  he  took  the  light  to 
go  up  stairs,  "How  sleepy  I  am!"  But,  instead 
of  going  to  sleep,  he  never  was  more  wide  awake. 
He  lay  till  all  in  the  house  were  asleep,  till  he  heard 
the  clock  strike  twelve,  then  arose,  went  down  stairs 
softly,  carrying  his  boots,  and,  when  outside  the  door, 
put  them  on.  He  looked  round  to  see  if  there  was 
any  one  astir ;  but  the  village  was  still,  —  there  was 
not  a  light  to  be  seen.  He  went  to  Mr.  Chrome's 
shop,  stopped,  and  looked  round  once  more;  but, 
seeing  no  one,  raised  a  window  and  entered.  The 

* 


66  Winning  his  Way. 

moon  streamed  through  the  windows,  and  fell  upon 
the  floor,  making  the  shop  so  light  that  he  had  no 
difficulty  in 'finding  Mr.  Chrome's  paint  buckets  and 
brushes.  Then,  with  a  bucket  in  his  hand,  he  climbed 
out,  closed  the  window,  and  went  to  Miss  Dobb's. 
He  approached  softly,  listening  and  looking  to  see 
if  any  one  was  about;  but  there  were  no  footsteps 
except  his  own.  He  painted  great  letters  on  the 
side  of  the  house,  chuckling  as  he  thought  of  what 
would  happen  in  the  morning. 

"  There,  Miss  Vinegar,  you  old  liar,  I  won't  charge 
anything  for  that  sign,"  he  said,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished. He  left  the  bucket  on  the  step,  and  went 
home,  chuckling  all  the  way. 

In  the  morning  Miss  Dobb  saw  a  crowd  of  peo- 
ple in  front  of  her  house,  looking  towards  it  and 
laughing.  Mr.  Leatherby  had  come  out  from  his 
shop;  Mr.  Noggin,  the  cooper,  was  there,  smoking 
his  pipe  ;  also,  Mrs.  Shelbarke,  who  lived  across 
the  street.  Philip  was  there.  "  That  is  a  'cute 
trick,  I  vow,"  said  he.  Everybody  was  on  a  broad 
grin. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  going  on,  I  should  like  to 
know  ! "  said  Miss  Dobb,  greatly  wondering.  "  There 


Music  and  Painting.  67 

must  be  something  funny.  Why,  they  are  looking 
at  my  house,  as  true  as  I  am  alive ! " 

Miss  Dobb  was  not  a  woman  to  be  kept  in  the 
dark  about  anything  a  great  while.  She  stepped  to 
the  front  door,  opened  it,  and  with  her  pleasantest 
smile  and  softest  tone  of  voice  said  :  "  Good  morn- 
ing, neighbors;  you  seem  to  be  very  much  pleased 
at  something.  May  I  ask  what  you  see  to  laugh 
at?" 

"  Te-he-he-he  ! "  snickered  a  little  boy,  who  pointed 
to  the  side  of  the  house,  and  the  by-standers  followed 
his  lead,  with  a  loud  chorus  of  guffaws. 

Miss  Dobb  looked  upon  the  wall,  and  saw,  in 
red  letters,  as  if  she  had  gone  into  business,  opened 
a  store,  and  put  out  a  sign,  —  "  MISS  DOBB,  LIES, 
SCANDAL,  GOSSIP,  WHOLESALE  AND  RETAIL." 

She  threw  up  her  hands  in  horror.  Her  eyes 
flashed  ;  she  gasped  for  breath.  There  was  a  paint- 
bucket  and  brush  on  the  door-step  ;  on  one  side 
of  the  bucket  she  saw  the  word  Chrome. 

"  The  villain !  I  '11  make  him  smart  for  this," 
she  said,  running  in,  snatching  her  bonnet,  and  out 
again,  making  all  haste  towards  Squire  Capias's 
office,  to  have  Mr.  Chrome  arrested. 


58  Winning  his   Way. 

The  Squire  heard  her  story.  There  was  a  merry 
twinkling  of  his  eye,  but  he  kept  his  countenance 
till  she  was  through. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  Mr.  Chrome  did  it ;  he  is 
not  such  a  fool  as  to  leave  his  bucket  and  brush 
there  as  evidence  against  him ;  you  had  better  let 
it  rest  awhile,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Chrome  laughed  when  he  saw  the  sign.  "I 
did  n't  do  it ;  I  was  abed  and  asleep,  as  my  wife 
will  testify.  Somebody  stole  my  bucket  and  brush ; 
but  it  is  a  good  joke  on  Dobb,  I'll  be  blamed  if 
it  isn't,"  said  he. 

Who  did   it  ?    That  was   the   question. 

"  I  will  give  fifty  dollars  to  know,"  said  Miss 
Dobb,  her  lips  quivering  with  anger. 

Philip  heard  her  and  said,  "  Is  n't  there  a  fellow 
who  sometimes  helps  Mr.  Chrome  paint  wagons  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  did  n't  think  of  him.  It  is  just  like  him. 
There  he  comes  now ;  I  '11  make  him  confess  it." 
Miss  Dobb's  eyes  flashed,  her  lips  trembled,  she 
was  so  angry.  She  remembered  that  one  of  the 
pigs  which  Paul  painted,  when  he  was  a  boy,  was 
hers  ;  she  also  remembered  how  he  sent  Mr.  Smith's 
old  white  horse  on  a  tramp  after  a  bundle  of  hay. 


Music  and  Painting.  69 

Paul  was  on  his  way  to  Mr.  Chrome?s  shop,  to 
begin  work  for  the  day.  He  wondered  at  the  crowd. 
He  saw  the  sign,  and  laughed  with  the  rest. 

"  You  did  that,  sir, "  said  Miss  Dobb,  coming  up 
to  him,  reaching  out  her  long  hand  and  clutching 
at  him  with  her  bony  fingers,  as  if  she  would  like 
to  tear  him  to  pieces.  "  You  did  it,  you  villain ! 
Now  you  need  n't  deny  it ;  you  painted  my  pig  once, 
and  now  you  have  done  this.  You  are  a  mean, 
good-for-nothing  scoundrel,"  she  said,  working  her- 
self into  a  terrible  passion. 

"  I  did  not  do  it,"  said  Paul,  nettled  at  the  charge, 
and  growing  red  in  the  face. 

"  You  are  a  liar  !  you  show  your  guilt  in  your 
countenance,"  said  Miss  Dobb. 

Paul's  face  was  on  fire.  Never  till  then  had  he 
been  called  a  liar.  He  was  about  to  tell  her  loudly, 
that  she  was  a  meddler,  tattler,  and  hypocrite,  but 
he  remembered  that  he  had  read  somewhere,  that 
"  he  who  loses  his  temper  loses  his  cause,"  and 
did  not  speak  the  words.  He  looked  her  steadily 
in  the  face,  and  said  calmly,  "  I  did  not  do  it, "  and 
went  on  to  his  work. 

Weeks  went  by.    The  singing-school  was  drawing 


70  Winning  his  Way. 

to  a  close.  Paul  had  made  rapid  progress.  Hia 
voice  was  round,  rich,  full,  and  clear.  He  no  longer 
appeared  at  school  wearing  his  grandfather's  coat, 
for  he  had  worked  for  Mr.  Chrome,  painting  wagons, 
till  he  had  earned  enough  to  purchase  a  new  suit 
of  clothes.  Besides,  it  was  discovered  that  he  could 
survey  land,  and  several  of  the  farmers  employed 
him  to  run  the  lines  between  their  farms.  Mr. 
Rhythm  took  especial  pains  to  help  him  on  in  sing- 
ing, and  before  winter  was  through  he  could  master 
the  crookedest  anthem  in  the  book.  Daphne  Dare 
was  the  best  alto,  Hans  Middlekauf  the  best  bass, 
and  Azalia  the  best  treble.  Sometimes  Mr.  Rhythm 
had  the  four  sing  a  quartette,  or  Azalia  and  Paul  sang 
a  duet.  At  times,  the  school  sang,  while  he  listened. 
"  I  want  you  to  learn  to  depend  upon  yourselves," 
said  he.  Then  it  was  that  Paul's  voice  was  heard 
above  all  others,  so  clear  and  distinct,  and  each  note 
so  exact  in  time  that  they  felt  he  was  their  leader. 
One  evening  Mr.  Rhythm  called  Paul  into  the 
floor,  and  gave  him  the  rattan  with  which  he  beat 
time,  saying,  "  I  want  you  to  be  leader  in  this  tune  ; 
I  resign  the  command  to  you,  and  you  are  to  do 
just  as  if  I  were  not  here."  The  blood  rushed  to 


Music  and  Painting.  71 

Paul's  face,  his  knees  trembled  ;  but  he  felt  that  it 
was  better  to  try  and  fail,  than  be  a  coward.  He 
sounded  the  key,  but  his  voice  was  husky  and  trem- 
bling. Fanny  Funk,  who  had  turned  up  her  nose 
at  Mr.  Rhythm's  proposition,  giggled  aloud,  and 
there  was  laughing  around  the  room.  It  nerved  him 
in  an  instant.  He  opened  his  lips  to  shout,  Silence ! 
then  he  thought  that  they  would  not  respect  his 
authority,  and  would  only  laugh  louder,  which  would 
make  him  appear  ridiculous.  He  stood  quietly  and 
said,  not  in  a  husky  voice,  but  calmly,  pleasantly,  and 
deliberately,  "  When  the  ladies  have  finished  their 
laughter  we  will  commence."  The  laughter  ceased. 
He  waited  till  the  room  was  so  still  that  they  could 
hear  the  clock  tick.  "  Now  we  will  try  it,"  said  he. 
They  did  not  sing  it  right,  and  he  made  them  go  over 
it  again  and  again,  drilling  them  till  they  sang  it 
so  well  that  Mr.  Rhythm  and  the  spectators  clapped 
their  hands. 

"You  will  have  a  competent  leader  after  I  leave 
you,"  said  Mr.  Rhythm.  Paul  had  gained  this  suc- 
cess by  practice  hour  after  hour,  day  after  day, 
week  after  week,  at  home,  till  he  was  master  of 
what  he  had  undertaken. 


72  Winning  his  Way. 

The  question  came  up  in  parish  meeting,  whether 
the  school  should  join  the  choir?  Mr.  Quaver  and 
the  old  members  opposed  it,  but  they  were  voted 
down.  Nothing  was  said  about  having  a  new  chor- 
ister, for  no  one  wished  to  hurt  Mr.  Quaver's  feel- 
ings by  appointing  Paul  in  his  place ;  but  the  school 
did  not  relish  the  idea  of  being  led  by  Mr.  Quaver, 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  old  singers  did  not 
mean  to  be  overshadowed  by  the  young  upstarts. 

It  was  an  eventful  Sunday  in  New  Hope  when 
the  singing-school  joined  the  choir.  The  church 
was  crowded.  Fathers  and  mothers  who  seldom 
attended  meeting  were  present  to  see  their  children 
in  the  singers'  seats.  The  girls  were  dressed  in 
white,  for  it  was  a  grand  occasion.  Mr.  Quavef 
and  the  old  choir  were  early  in  their  places.  Mr. 
Quaver's  red  nose  was  redder  than  ever,  and  he 
had  a  stern  look.  He  took  no  notice  of  the  new 
singers,  who  stood  in  the  background,  not  daring 
to  take  their  seats,  and  not  knowing  what  to  do  till 
Paul  arrived. 

"Where  shall  we  sit,  sir?"  Paul  asked,  respect- 
fully. 

"Anywhere  back  there,"  said  Mr.  Quaver. 


Music  and  Painting.  73 

"We  would  like  to  have  you  assign  us  seats,1' 
said  Paul. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  about  it ;  you  may  sit  any- 
where, and  sing  when  you  are  a  mind  to,  or  hold 
yo'jr  tongues,"  said  Mr.  Quaver,  sharply. 

"Very  well;  we  will  do  so,"  said  Paul,  a  little 
touched,  telling  the  school  to  occupy  the  back  seats. 
He  was  their  acknowledged  leader.  He  took  his 
place  behind  Mr.  Quaver,  with  Hans,  Azalia,  and 
Daphne  near  him.  Mr.  Quaver  did  not  look  round, 
neither  did  Miss  Gamut,  nor  any  of  the  old  choir. 
They  felt  that  the  new-comers  were  intruders,  who 
had  no  right  there. 

The  bell  ceased  its  tolling,  and  Rev.  Mr.  Sur- 
plice ascended  the  pulpit  stairs.  He  was  a  vener- 
able man.  He  had  preached  many  years,  and  his 
long,  white  hair,  falling  upon  his  shoulders,  seemed 
to  crown  him  with  a  saintly  glory.  The  people,  old 
and  young,  honored,  respected,  and  loved  him;  for 
he  had  grave  counsel  for  the  old,  kind  words  for 
the  young,  and  pleasant  stories  for  the  little  ones. 
Everybody  said  that  he  was  ripening  for  heaven. 
He  rejoiced  when  he  looked  up  into  the  gallery 
and  saw  such  a  goodly  array  of  youth,  beauty,  and 
4 


74  Winning  his  Way. 

loveliness.  Then,  bowing  his  head  in  prayer,  and 
looking  onward  to  the  eternal  years,  he  seemed  to 
see  them  members  of  a  heavenly  choir,  clothed  in 
white,  and  singing,  "Alleluia!  salvation  and  glory 
and  honor  and  power  unto  the  Lord  our  God!" 
After  prayer,  he  read  a  hymn :  — 

"  Now  shall  my  head  be  lifted  high 

Above  my  foes  around ; 
And  songs  of  joy  and  victory 
Within  thy  temple  sound." 

There  was  a  smile  of  satisfaction  on  Mr.  Qua- 
ver's countenance  while  selecting  the  tune,  as  if  he 
had  already  won  a  victory.  There  was  a  clearing 
of  throats;  then  Mr.  Fiddleman  gave  the  key  on 
the  bass-viol.  As  Mr.  Quaver  had  told  Paul  that 
the  school  might  sing  when  they  pleased,  or  hold 
'their  tongues,  he  determined  to  act  independently 
of  Mr.  Quaver. 

"After  one  measure,"  whispered  Paul.  He  knew 
they  would  watch  his  hand,  and  commence  in  ex- 
act time.  The  old  choir  was  accustomed  to  sing 
without  regard  to  time. 

Mr.  Quaver  commenced  louder  than  usual,  —  twist- 
ing, turning,  drawling,  and  flattening  the  first  word 


Music  and  Painting.  75 

as  if  it  was  spelled  n-e-a-w.  Miss  Gamut  and  Mr. 
Cleff  and  the  others  dropped  in  one  by  one.  Not 
a  sound  as  yet  from  the  school.  All  stood  eagerly 
watching  Paul.  He  cast  a  quick  glance  right  and 
left.  His  hand  moved,  —  down  —  left  —  right  —  up. 
They  burst  into  the  tune,  fifty  voices  together.  It 
was  like  the  broadside  of  a  fifty-gun  frigate.  The 
old  choir  was  confounded.  Miss  Gamut  stopped 
short.  Captaiu  Binnacle,  who  once  was  skipper  of 
a  schooner  on  the  Lakes,  and  who  owned  a  pew 
in  front  of  the  pulpit,  said  afterwards,  that  she  was 
thrown  on  her  beam-ends  as  if  struck  by  a  nor'- 
wester  and  all  her  main-sail  blown  into  ribbons  in 
a  jiffy.  Mr.  Quaver,  though  confused  for  a  mo- 
ment, recovered;  Miss  Gamut  also  righted  herself. 
Though  confounded,  they  were  not  yet  defeated. 
Mr.  Quaver  stamped  upon  the  floor,  which  brought 
Mr.  Cleff  to  his  senses.  Mr.  Quaver  looked  as  if 
he  would  say,  "Put  down  the  upstarts!"  Mr.  Fid- 
dleman  played  with  all  his  might;  Miss  Gamut 
screamed  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  while  Mr.  Cleff 
puffed  out  his  fat  cheeks  and  became  red  in  tjie 
face,  doing  his  utmost  to  drown  them. 
The  people  looked  and  listened  in  amazement 


76  Winning  his    Way. 

Mr.  Surplice  stood  reverently  in  his  place.  Those 
who  sat  nearest  the  pulpit  said  that  there  was  a 
smile  on  his  countenance. 

It  was  a  strange  fugue,  but  each  held  on  to  the 
end  of  the  verse,  the  young  folks  getting  out  ahead 
of  Mr.  Quaver  and  his  flock,  and  having  a  breath- 
ing spell  before  commencing  the  second  stanza.  So 
they  went  through  the  hymn.  Then  Mr.  Surplice 
read  from  the  Bible  :  "  Behold  ho\v  ,good  and  how 
pleasant  it  is  for  brethren  to  dwell  together  in  unity  1 
As  the  dew  of  Hennon,  and  as  the  dew  that  de- 
scended upon  the  mountains  of  Zion  ;  for  there  the 
Lord  commanded  his  blessing  forevermore." 

Turning  to  the  choir,  he  said.  "  My  dear  friends, 
I  perceive  that  there  is  a  want  of  unity  in  your  ser- 
vices, as  singers  of  the  sanctuary ;  therefore,  that  the 
peace  and  harmony  of  the  place  may  not  be  broken, 
I  propose  that,  when  the  next  psalm  is  given,  the  old 
members  of  the  choir  sing  the  first  stanza,  and  the 
new  members  the  second,  and  so  through  the  hymn. 
By  thus  doing  there  will  be  no  disagreement." 

.Each  one  —  old  and  young  —  resolved  to  do  his 
best,  for  comparisons  would  be  made  It  would  be 
the  struggle  for  victory. 


Music  and  Painting.  77 

"I  will  give  them  a  tune  which  will  break  them 
down,"  Mr.  Quaver  whispered  to  Miss  Gamut,  as  he 
selected  one  with  a  tenor-  and  treble  duet,  which  he 
and  Miss  Gamut  had  sung  together  a  great  many 
times.  Louder  and  stronger  sang  Mr.  Quaver.  Miss 
Gamut  cleared  her  throat,  with  the  determination  to 
sing  as  she  never  sang  before,  and  to  show  the  people 
what  a  great  difference  there  was  between  her  voice 
and  Azalia  Adams's.  But  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  set  her  heart  in  a  flutter  when  she  came  to 
the  duet,  which  ran  up  out  of  the  scale.  She  aimed 
at  high  G,  but  instead  of  striking  it  in  a  round  full 
tone,  as  she  intended  and  expected,  she  only  made 
a  faint  squeak  on  F,  which  sounded  so  funny  that 
the  people  down  stairs  smiled  in  spite  of  their  efforts 
to  keep  sober.  Her  breath  was  gone.  She  sank 
upon  her  seat,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
mortified  and  ashamed.  Poor  Miss  Gamut !  But 
there  was  a  sweet  girl  behind  her  who  pitied  her 
very  much,  and  who  felt  like  crying,  so  quick  was 
her  sympathy  for  all  in  trouble  and  sorrow. 

Mr.  Quaver  was  provoked.  Never  was  his  nose 
so  red  and  fiery.  Determined  not  to  be  broken 
down,  he  carried  the  verse  through,  ending  with  a 
roar,  as  if  to  say,  "  I  am  not  defeated." 


78  Winning  his   Way. 

The  your^g  folks  now  had  their  turn.  Theie  was 
a  measure  of  time,  the  exact  movement,  the  clear 
chord,  swelling  into  full  chorus,  then  becoming 
fainter,  till  it  seemed  like  the  murmuring  of  voices 
far  away.  How  charming  the  duet !  Where  Mr. 
Quaver  blared  like  a  trumpet,  Paul  sang  in  clear, 
melodious  notes ;  and  where  Miss  Gamut  broke 
down,  Azalia  glided  so  smoothly  and  sweetly  that 
every  heart  was  thrilled.  Then,  when  all  joined 
in  the  closing  strain,  the  music  rolled  in  majesty 
along  the  roof,  encircled  the  pulpit,  went  down  the 
winding  stairs,  swept  along  the  aisles,  entered  the 
pews,  and  delighted  the  congregation.  Miss  Gamut 
still  continued  to  sit  with  her  hands  over  her  face. 
Mr.  Quaver  nudged  her  to  try  another  verse,  but  she 
shook  her  head.  Paul  waited  for  Mr.  Quaver,  who 
was  very  red  in  the  face,  and  who  felt  that  it  was  of 
no  use  to  try  again  without  Miss  Gamut.  He  waved 
his  hand  to  Paul  as  a  signal  to  go  on.  The  victory 
was  won.  Through  the  sermon  Mr.  Quaver  thought 
the  matter  over.  He  felt  very  uncomfortable,  but  at 
noon  he  shook  hands  with  Paul,  and  said,  "  I  resign 
my  place  to  you.  I  have  been  chorister  for  thirty 
years,  and  have  had  my  day."  He  made  the  best 


Music  and  Painting.  79 

of  his  defeat,  and  in  the  afternoon,  with  all  the  old 
singers,  sat  down  stairs. 

Judge  Adams  bowed  to  Paul  very  cordially  at  the 
close  of  the  service.  Colonel  Dare  shook  hands  with 
him,  and  Rev.  Mr.  Surplice,  with  a  pleasant  smile, 
said,  "  May  the  Lord  be  with  you."  It  was  spoken 
so  kindly  and  heartily,  and  was  so  like  a  benedic- 
tion, that  the  tears  came  to  Paul's  eyes ;  for  he  felt 
that  he  was  unworthy  of  such  kindness. 

There  was  one  person  in  the  congregation  who 
looked  savagely  at  him,  —  Miss  Dobb.  "  It  is  a 
shame,"  she  said,  when  the  people  came  out  of 
church,  speaking  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  all, 
"  that  such  a  young  upstart  and  hypocrite  should  be 
allowed  to  worm  himself  into  Mr.  Quaver's  seat." 
She  hated  Paul,  and  determined  to  put  him  down 
if  possible. 

Paul  went  home  from  church  pleased  that  the 
school  had  done  so  well,  and  grateful  for  all  the 
kind  words  he  heard  ;  but  as  he  retired  for  the  night, 
and  thought  over  what  had  taken  place,  —  when  he 
realized  that  he  was  the  leader  of  the  choir,  and 
that  singing  was  a  part  of  divine  worship,  —  when 
he  considered  that  he  had  fifty  young  folks  to  direct 


8o  Winning  his   Way. 

—  and  that  it  would  require  a  steady  hand  to  keep 
them  straight,  he  felt  very  sober.  As  these  thoughts, 
one  by  one,  came  crowding  upon  him,  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  bear  so  great  a  responsibility.  Then  he 
reflected  that  life  is  made  up  of  responsibilities,  and 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  meet  them  manfully.  If  he 
cringed  before,  or  shrank  from  them,  and  gave  them 
the  go-by,  he  would  be  a  coward,  and  never  would 
accomplish  anything.  No  one  would  respect  him, 
and  he  would  not  even  have  any  respect  for  himself. 
"  I  won't  back  out  i "  he  said,  resolving  to  do  the 
best  he  could. 

Very  pleasant  were  the  days.  Spring  had  come 
with  its  sunshine  and  flowers.  The  birds  were  in 
their  old  haunts,  —  the  larks  in  the  meadows,  the 
partridges  in  the  woods,  the  quails  in  the  fields. 
Paul  was  as  happy  as  they,  singing  from  morning 
till  night  the  tunes  he  had  learned ;  and  when  his 
day's  work  was  over,  he  was  never  too  wearied  to 
call  upon  Daphne  with  Azalia,  and  sing  till  the  last 
glimmer  of  daylight  Jaded  from  the  west,  —  Azalia 
playing  the  piano,  and  their  voices  mingling  in  per- 
fect harmony.  How  pleasant  the  still  hours  with 
Azalia  beneath  the  old  elms,  which  spread  out  their 


Music  and  Painting.  Si 

arms  above  them,  as  if  to  pronounce  a  benediction, 
—  the  moonlight  smiling  around  them,  —  the  dew? 
perfuming  the  air  with  the  sweet  odors  of  roses  and 
apple-blooms,  —  the  cricket  chirping  his  love-song 
ta  his  mate,  —  the  river  forever  flowing,  and  sweetly 
chanting  its  endless  melody ! 

Sometimes  they  lingered  by  the  way,  and  laughed 
to  hear  the  grand  chorus  of  bull-frogs  croaking  among 
the  rushes  of  the  river,  and  the  echoes  of*  their  own 
voices  dying  away  in  the  distant  forest.  And  then, 
standing  in  the  gravelled  walk  before  the  door  of 
Azalia's  home,  where  the  flowers  bloomed  around 
them,  they  looked  up  to  the  stars,  shining  so  far  away, 
and  talked  of  choirs  of  angels,  and  of  those  who  had 
gone  frem  earth  to  heaven,  and  were  singing  the 
song  of  the  Redeemed.  How  bright  the  days !  how 
blissful  the 


82  ginning  his  Way. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    NIGHT-HAWKS. 

MR.  SHELL  was  proprietor  of  the  New  Hope 
Oyster  Saloon.  He  got  up  nice  game  suppers, 
and  treated  his  customers  to  ale,  whiskey,  and  brandy. 
Philip  loved  good  living,  and  often  ate  an  oyster-stew 
and  a  broiled  quail,  and  washed  it  down  with  a  glass 
of  ale,  late  at  night  in  Mr.  Shell's  rooms,  in  com- 
pany with  three  or  four  other  boys.  After  supper 
they  had  cigars  and  a  game  of  cards,  till  midnight, 
when  Mr.  Shell  put  out  his  lights  and  closed  his 
doors,  often  interrupting  them  in  the  middle  of  a 
game.  That  was  not  agreeable,  and  so  the  young 
gentlemen  hired  a  room  over  the  saloon,  fitted  it 
up  with  tables  and  chairs,  and  organized  a  club,  call- 
ing themselves  "  Night-Hawks."  Philip  was  the 
chief  hawk.  They  met  nearly  every  evening.  No 
one  co;~d  get  into  their  room  without  giving  a  sig- 
nal to  those  within,  and  they  had  a  secret  sign  by 
which  they  knew  each  other  in  the  dark. 
At  first  they  enjoyed  themselves,  playing  cards, 


The  Night-Hawks.  83 

smoking  cigars,  drinking  ale,  sipping  hot  whiskey 
punch,  and  telling  stories;  but  in  a  short  time  the 
stories  were  not  worth  laughing  at,  the  games  of  cards 
were  the  same  thing  over  and  over,  and  they  wanted 
something  more  exciting. 

It  was  the  fall  of  the  year.  There  was  rich  fruit 
in  the  orchards  and  gardens  of  New  Hope,  russet 
and  crimson-cheeked  apples,  golden-hued  pears,  lus- 
cious grapes  purpling  in  the  October  sun,  and  juicy 
melons.  The  bee-hives  were  heavy  with  honey,  and 
the  bees  were  still  at  work,  gathering  new  sweets 
from  the  late  blooming  flowers.  Many  baskets  of 
ripe  apples  and  choicest  pears,  many  a  bunch  of 
grapes,  with  melons,  found  their  way  up  the  narrow 
stairs  to  the  room  of  the  Night-Hawks.  There  was 
a  pleasing  excitement  in  gathering  the  apples  and 
pears  under  the  windows  of  the  unsuspecting  people 
fast  asleep,  or  in  plucking  the  grapes  from  garden  trel- 
lises at  midnight.  But  people  began  to  keep  watch, 

"  We  must  throw  them  off  our  track.  I  '11  make 
them  think  that  Paul  does  it,"  said  Philip  to  himself 
one  day.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  night  of  Daph- 
ne's party,  —  how  Paul  had  won  a  victory  and  he 
had  suffered  defeat.  Paul  was  respected;  he  was 


&4  Winning  his   Way. 

the  leader  of  the  choir,  and  was  getting  on  in  the 
world.     "  I  '11  fix  him ! "  said  he. 

The  next  morning,  when  Mr.  Leatherby  kindled 
the  fire  in  his  shoe-shop,  he  found  that  the  stove 
would  not  draw.  The  smoke,  instead  of  going  up 
the  funnel,  poured  into  the  room,  and  the  fire,  in- 
stead of  roaring  and  blazing,  smouldered  a  few  mo- 
ments and  finally  died  out.  He  kindled  it  again, 
opened  the  windows  to  let  in  the  air,  but  it  would 
not  burn.  He  got  down  on  his  knees  and  blew  till 
he  was  out  of  breath,  got  his  eyes  filled  with  smoke, 
which  made  the  tears  roll  down  his  cheeks.  The 
shop  was  a  mere  box  of  a  building,  with  a  low  roof; 
so  he  climbed  up  and  looked  into  the  chimney  and 
found  it  stuffed  with  newspapers.  Pulling  them 
out,  he  saw  a  crumpled  piece  of  writing-paper.  He 
smoothed  it  out.  "  Ah  !  ^what  is  this  ? "  said  he ; 
and,  putting  on  his  spectacles,  he  read,  "  North  69° 
East,  140  rods  to  a  stake ;  South  87°  West,  50  rods 
to  an  oak-tree." 

"That  is  Paul  Parker's  figuring,  I  reckon.  I  al- 
ways knew  that  Paul  loved  fun,  but  I  did  n't  think 
he  would  do  this!"  said  Mr.  Leatherby  to 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 


The  Night-Hawks.  85 

•*  Good  morning,  Mr.  Leatherby,"  said  Philip,  com- 
ing up  at  that  moment.  "  What  is  the  matter  with 
your  chimney?" 

"  Some  of  you  boys  have  been  playing  a  trick  upon 
me." 

"Who,  I  should  like  to  know,  is  there  in  New 
Hope  mean  enough  to  do  that  ? "  Philip  asked. 

"Whose  figuring  do  you  call  that?"  Mr.  Leatherby 
asked,  presenting  the  paper. 

"  Paul  Parker's,  as  sure  as  I  am  alive !  You  ought 
to  expose  him,  Mr.  Leatherby." 

"  I  don't  like  to  say  anything  against  him.  I  always 
liked  him  ;  but  I  did  n't  think  he  would  cut  up  such 
a  shine  as  this,"  Mr.  Leatherby  replied. 

"  Appearances  are  deceptive.  It  won't  do  for  me 
to  say  anything  against  Paul,  for  people  might  say  I 
was  envious ;  but  if  I  were  you,  Mr.  Leatherby,  I  'd 
put  him  over  the  road,"  said  Philip,  walking  on. 

Mr.  Leatherby  thought  the  matter  over  all  day, 
as  he  sat  in  his  dingy  shop,  which  was  only  a  few 
rods  from  Mr.  Chrome's,  where  Paul  was  painting 
wagons,  singing  snatches  of  songs,  and  psalms  and 
hymns.  Mr.  Leatherby  loved  to  hear  him.  It  made 
the  days  seem  shorter.  It  rested  him  when  he  was 


86  Winning  his  Way. 

tired,  cheered  him  when  he  was  discouraged.  It  was 
like  sunshine  in  his  soul,  for  it  made  him  happy. 
Thinking  it  over,  and  hearing  Paul's  voice  so  round, 
clear,  full,  and  sweet,  he  could  n't  make  up  his  mind 
to  tell  anybody  of  the  little  joke.  "After  all,  he 
did  n't  mean  anything  in  particular,  only  to  have  a 
little  fun  with  me.  Boys  will  be  boys,"  —  and  so  Mr. 
Leatherby,  kind  old  man  that  he  was,  determined 
to  keep  it  all  to  hiuself. 

When  Paul  passed  by  the  shop  on  his  way  home 
at  night,  he  said,  "Good  evening,  Mr.  Leatherby," 
so  pleasantly  and  kindly,  that  Mr.  Leatherby  half 
made  up  his  mind  that  it  was  n't  Paul  who  did  it, 
after  all,  but  some  of  the  other  boys,  —  Bob  Swift, 
perhaps,  a  sly,  cunning,  crafty  fellow,  who  was  one 
of  Philip's  cronies;  "  It  would  be  just  like  Bob,  but 
not  at  all  like  Paul,  and  so  I  won't  say  anything  to 
anybody,"  said  the  mild  old  man  to  himself. 

Miss  Dobb's  shaggy  little  poodle  came  out,  bark- 
ing furiously  at  Paul  as  he  passed  down  the  street. 
Paul  gave  him  a  kick  which  sent  him  howling  towards 
the  house,  saying,  "  Get  out,  you  ugly  puppy ! "  Miss 
Dobb  heard  him.  She  came  to  the  door  and  clasped 
the  poodle  to  her  bosom,  saying,  "  Poor  dear  Trippee  1 


The  Night-Hawks.  87 

Did  the  bad  fellow  hurt  the  dear  little  Trippee?" 
Then  she  looked  savagely  at  Paul,  and  as  she  put 
out  her  hand  to  close  the  door,  she  seemed  to  clutch 
at  Paul  with  her  long,  bony  fingers,  as  if  to  get  hold 
of  him  and  give  him  a  shaking. 

Trip  was  n't  hurt  much,  for  he  was  out  again  in 
a  few  minutes,  snapping  and  snarling  at  all  passers- 
by.  Just  at  dark  he  was  missing.  Miss  Dobb  went 
to  the  door  and  called,  "  Trip  !  Trip  1  Trip ! "  but 
he  did  not  come  at  her  call.  She  looked  up  and 
down  the  street,  but  could  not  see  him.  The  even- 
ing passed  away.  She  went  to  the  door  many  times 
and  called ;  she  went  to  Mr.  Shelbarke's  and  to  Mr. 
Noggin's,  but  no  one  had  seen  Trip.  She  went  to 
bed  wondering  what  had  become  of  him,  and  fearing 
that  somebody  had  killed  or  stolen  him. 

But  in  the  night  she  heard  him  whining  at  the 
door.  She  opened  it  joyfully.  "Where  have  you 
been,  you  dear  little  good-for-nothing  darling  Trip  ? " 
she  said,  kissing  him,  finding,  as  she  did  so,  that  all 
his  hair  had  been  sheared  off,  except  a  tuft  on  the 
end  of  his  tail.  She  was  so  angry  that  she  could 
not  refrain  from  shedding  tears.  The  puppy  shiv-* 
eied,  trembled,  and  whined  in  the  cold,  and  Miss 


88  Winning  his   Way. 

Dobb  was  obliged  to  sew  him  up  in  flannel.  He 
looked  so  funny  in  his  coat,  with  the  tuft  of  hair 
waving  on  the  end  of  his  tail,  that  Miss  Dobb  laughed 
notwithstanding  her  anger.  In  the  morning  she  went 
out  to  tell  her  neighbors  what  had  happened,  and 
met  Philip. 

"  Good  morning.  I  hope  you  are  well,  Miss  Dobb," 
he  said  politely. 

"  Yes,  I  am  well,  only  I  am  so  vexed  that  I  don't 
know  what  to  do." 

"  Indeed  !    What  has  happened  ? " 

"Why,  somebody  has  sheared  all  of  Trip's  hair 
off,  except  a  tuft  on  the  end  of  his  tail,  which  looks 
like  a  swab.  It  is  an  outrageous  insult,  for  Trip 
had  a  beautiful  tail.  I  would  pull  every  hair  out 
of  the  villain's  head,  if  I  knew  who  did  it" 

"  Who  was  it  that  kicked  your  dog  last  night,  and 
called  him  an  ugly  puppy?"  Philip  asked. 

Miss  Dobb  remembered  who,  and  her  eyes  flashed. 
Philip  walked  on,  and  came  across  Bob  Swift,  who 
had  been  standing  round  the  corner  of  Mr.  Noggin's 
shop,  listening  to  all  that  was  said.  They  laughed 
at  something,  then  stopped  and  looked  at  Mr.  Nog- 
gin's bees,  which  were  buzzing  and  humming  merrily 
in  the  bright  October  sun. 


The  Night-Hawks.  89 

That  night  Mr.  Noggin  heard  a  noise  in  his  yard. 
Springing  out  of  bed  and  going  to  the  window,  he 
saw  that  a  thief  was  taking  the  boxes  of  honey  from 
his  patent  hives.  He  opened  the  door  and  shouted, 
"Thief!  Thief!"  The  robber  ran.  In  the  morning 
Mr.  Noggin  found  that  the  thief  had  dropped  his  hat 
in  his  haste.  He  picked  it  up.  "  Aha  1  Tears  to 
me  I  have  seen  this  hat  before.  Paul  Parker's,  as 
sure  as  I  am  alive  ! "  he  said.  It  was  the  hat  which 
Paul  wore  in  Mr.  Chrome's  paint-shop.  Everybody 
knew  it,  because  it  was  daubed  and  spattered  with 
paint 

Mr.  Noggin  went  to  his  work.  He  was  a  well- 
meaning  man,  but  shallow-brained.  He  knew  how 
to  make  good  barrels,  tubs,  and  buckets,  but  had 
no  mind  of  his  own.  He  put  on  his  leather  apron, 
and  commenced  driving  the  hoops  upon  a  barrel, 
pounding  with  his  adze,  singing,  and  making  the  bar- 
rel ring  with 

"  Cooper  ding,  cooper  ding,  cooper  ding,  ding,  ding  1 
Cooper  ding,  cooper  ding,  cooper  ding,  ding,  ding  I 
Cooper  ding,  job,  job, 
Cooper  ding,  bob,  bob, 
Heigh  ho,  —  ding,  ding,  ding  I " 


go  Winning  his  Way. 

Mr.  Noggin  was  rattling  on  in  that  fashion  when 
Miss  Dobb,  followed  by  Trip,  entered  the  shop. 

"  Well,  I  declare  1  That  is  the  first  time  I  ever 
saw  a  pup  with  a  shirt  on,"  said  Mr.  Noggin,  stop- 
ping and  looking  at  the  poodle  sewed  up  in  flannel. 
"  That  is  Paul  Parker's  doings,  —  I  mean  the  shear- 
ing," said  Miss  Dobb,  her  eyes  flashing  indignantly. 

"  Paul's  work !  O  ho  !  Then  he  shears  pups  be- 
sides robbing  beehives,  does  he  ? "  said  Mr.  Noggin. 
He  told  Miss  Dobb  what  had  happened. 

"  It  is  your  duty,  Mr.  Noggin,  to  have  him  arrested 
at  once.  You  are  under  imperative  obligations  to 
the  community  as  a  law  and  order  abiding  citizen 
to  put  the  sheriff  upon  his  track.  He  is  a  hypocrite. 
He  ought  to  be  pitched  out  of  the  singing-seats  head 
first."  So  Miss  Dobb  wound  Mr.  Noggin  round 
her  finger,  and  induced  him  to  entei  a  complaint 
against  Paul 


Paul's  Friends.  gi 

CHAPTER   VI. 

PAUL'S  FRIENDS. 

FOR  five  months  Paul  had  been  leader  of  the 
,,-noir,  and  so  faithfully  were  his  duties  per- 
formed, so  excellent  his  drill,  and  so  good  his  taste 
and  mature  his  judgment,  so  completely  were  the 
choir  under  his  control,  that  the  ministers  from  the 
surrounding  parishes,  when  they  exchanged  with  Rev. 
Mr.  Surplice,  said,  "  What  glorious  singing  they  have 
at  New  Hope  !  "  It  was  so  good,  that  people  who 
never  had  been  in  the  habit  of  attending  church  hired 
pews,  —  not  that  they  cared  to  hear  Mr.  Surplice 
preach  and  pray,  but  it  was  worth  while  to  hear  Aza- 
lia  Adams  and  Daphne  Dare  sing  a  quartette  with 
Paul  and  Hans,  and  the  whole  choir  joining  in  per- 
fect time  and  in  sweetest  harmony. 

Paul  believed  that  a  thing  worth  doing  at  all  was 
worth  doing  well.  His  heart  was  in  his  work.  It 
was  a  pleasure  to  sing.  He  loved  music  because 
it  made  him  happy,  and  he  felt  also  that  he  and 
Azalia  and  Daphne  and  all  the  choir  were  a  power 


92  Winning  his   Way. 

for  good  in  the  community  to  make  men  better. 
Farmer  Harrow,  who  used  to  work  at  haying  on 
Sunday,  said  it  was  worth  a  bushel  of  turnips  any 
time  to  hear  such  sweet  singing.  So  his  hired  man 
and  horses  had  rest  one  day  in  seven,  and  he  be- 
came a  better  man. 

In  the  calm  moonlight  nights  Paul  often  lay  wide 
awake,  hour  after  hour,  listening  with  rapture  to  the 
sweet  music  which  came  to  him  from  the  distant 
woods,  from  the  waterfall,  from  the  old  maple  in 
front  of  the  house,  when  the  leaves,  tinged  with  gor- 
geous hues,  were  breaking  one  by  one  from  the 
twigs,  and  floating  to  the  ground,  from  the  crickets 
chirping  the  last  lone  songs  of  the  dying  year,  and 
from  the  robins  and  sparrows  still  hovering  around 
their  summer  haunts.  It  was  sweet  to  think  of  the 
pleasant  hours  he  had  passed  with  Azalia  and 
Daphne,  and  with  all  the  choir;  and  then  it  was 
very  pleasant  to  look  into  the  future,  and  imagine 
what  bliss  there  might  be  in  store  for  him;  —  a 
better  home  for  his  mother  in  her  declining  years,  — 
a  better  life  for  himself.  He  would  be  a  good"  citi- 
zen, respected  and  beloved.  He  would  be  kind  to 
all.  He  wished  that  all  the  world  might  be  good 


Paul's  Friends.  93 

and  happy.  When  he  became  a  man,  he  would  try 
and  make  people  good.  If  everybody  was  as  good 
as  Azalia,  what  a  glorious  world  it  would  be !  She 
was  always  good,  always  cheerful.  She  had  a  smile 
for  everybody.  Her  life  was  as  warm  and,  sunny 
and  golden  as  the  October  days,  and  as  calm  and 
peaceful  as  the  moonlight  streaming  across  his  cham 
ber.  Sweet  it  was  to  think  of  her,  —  sweeter  to  see 
her ;  sweetest  of  all  to  stand  by  her  side  and  unite 
his  voice  to  hers,  and  feel  in  his  soul  the  charm  of 
her  presence.  In  his  dreams  he  sometimes  heard 
her  and  sat  by  her  side. 

Sometimes,  while  thus  lying  awake,  watching  the 
stars  as  they  went  sailing  down  the  western  sky, 
his  thoughts  went  beyond  the  present  into  the  un- 
seen future,  whither  his  father  and  grandfather  had 
gone.  They  sang  when  on  earth,  and  he  thought 
of  them  as  singing  in  heaven.  Sometimes  he  gazed 
so  long  and  steadily  toward  the  heavenly  land,  that 
his  eyes  became  dim  with  tears,  so  sweet  and  yet 
so  sad  the  sounds  he  seemed  to  hear,  —  so  near  and 
yet  so  far  away  that  land. 

So  the  days  went  by,  and  the  calm  and  peaceful 
nights,  bringing  him  to  October,  —  the  glorious 
harvest  month. 


94  Winning  his  Way. 

And  now  suddenly  people  looked  shyly  at  him 
There  were  mysterious  whisperings  and  averted 
faces.  He  met  Squire  Capias  one  morning  on  th« 
street  "  Good  morning,"  said  Paul ;  but  the  lawyer 
walked  on  without  reply.  He  passed  Miss  Dobb's 
house.  She  sat  by  the  front  window,  and  glared 
at  him  savagely  ;  and  yet  she  seemed  to  smile,  but 
her  countenance  was  so  thin,  wrinkled,  and  sharp, 
and  her  eyes  so  fierce,  her  smile  so  fiendish,  that 
it  put  him  in  mind  of  a  picture  he  once  saw  in  a 
horrible  story-book,  which  told  of  a  witch  that 
carried  off  little  children  and  ate  them  for  break- 
fast. Paul  thought  that  Miss  Dobb  would  like  to 
pick  his  bones.  But  he  went  on  to  his  work,  rejoi- 
cing that  there  were  not  many  Miss  Dobbs  in  the 
world. 

While  hard  at  it  with  his  paint-brush,  Mr.  Ketchum 
entered.  He  was  a  tall,  stout  man,  with  black,  bushy 
whiskers,  and  so  strong  that  he  could  take  a  barrel 
of  cider  on  his  knees  and  drink  out  of  the  bunghole. 
He  was  a  sheriff.  The  rowdies  who  fell  into  his 
hands  said  it  was  no  use  to  try  to  resist  Mr.  Ketchum, 
for  he  once  seized  a  stubborn  fellow  by  the  heels, 
and  swung  him  round  as  he  would  a  cat  by  the  tail, 


Paul's  Friends.  95 

till  the  fellow  lost  his  breath  and  was  frightened  half 
out  of  his  wits. 

"  I  have  called  in  to  ask  you  to  walk  up  to  Judge 
Adams's  office  on  a  matter  of  business,"  said  Mr. 
Ketchum. 

"With  pleasure,  sir,"  said  Paul,  who,  now  that  he 
had  become  a  surveyor  of  land,  had  been  called  upon 
repeatedly  to  give  his  testimony  in  court. 

They  entered  Judge  Adams's  office,  which  was 
crowded  with  people.  Mr.  Noggin,  Miss  Dobb, 
Philip,  and  Bob  Swift  were  there.  A  buzz  ran 
round  the  room.  They  all  looked  upon  Paul. 

"You  have  been  arrested,  Paul,  and  are  charged 
with  stealing  honey  from  Mr.  Noggin's  beehives. 
Are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty?"  said  Judge  Adams. 

"  Arrested !  —  arrested  for  stealing  !  "  —  Paul  ex- 
claimed, stupefied  and  astounded  at  the  words  of  the 
judge.  It  was  like  a  lightning-stroke.  His  knees 
became  weak.  He  felt  sick  at  heart  Great  drops 
of  cold  and  clammy  sweat  stood  upon  his  forehead. 
Arrested  !  What  would  his  mother  say?  Her  son 
accused  of  stealing  !  What  would  everybody  say  ? 
What  would  Azalia  think?  What  would  Rev.  Mr. 
Surplice  say  ?  What  would  his  class  of  boys  in  the 


96  Winning  his  Way. 

Sunday-school  say,  not  about  him,  but  about  ttuth 
and  honor  and  religion,  when  they  heard  that  their 
teacher  was  arrested  for  stealing? 

His  throat  became  dry,  his  tongue  was  parched. 
His  voice  suddenly  grew  husky.  His  brain  reeled. 
His  heart  one  moment  stood  still,  then  leaped  in 
angry  throbs,  as  if  ready  to  burst  He  trembled 
j»s  if  attacked  by  sudden  ague,  then  a  hot  flash  went 
over  him,  burning  up  his  brain,  scorching  his  heart, 
and  withering  his  life. 

"  What  say  you,  are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty  ? " 
"  I  am  innocent,"  said  Paul,  gasping  for  breath, 
and  sinking  into  his  seat,  taking  no  notice  of  what 
was  going  on  around  him.  He  was  busy  with  the 
future.  He  saw  all  his  hopes  of  life  dead  in  an 
instant,  —  killed  by  one  flash.  He  knew  that  he  was 
innocent,  but  he  was  accused  of  crime,  arrested,  and 
a  prisoner.  The  world  would  have  it  that  he  was 
guilty.  His  good  name  was  gone  forever.  His 
hopes  were  blighted,  his  aspirations  destroyed,  his 
dreams  of  future  joy,  —  all  had  passed  away.  His 
mother  would  die  of  a  broken  heart.  Henceforth 
those  with  whom  he  had  associated  would  shun  him. 
For  him  there  was  no  more  peace,  joy,  or  comfort,  — 


Paul's  Friends.  97 

nothing  but  impenetrable  darkness  and  agony  in 
the  future.  So  overwhelmed  was  he,  that  he  took 
no  notice  of  Mr.  Noggin's  testimony,  or  of  what 
was  done,  till  he  heard  Judge  Adams  say:  "There 
are  some  circumstances  against  the  accused,  but  the 
testimony  is  not  sufficient  to  warrant  my  binding 
him  over  for  trial.  He  is  discharged." 

Paul  went  out  into  the  fresh  air,  like  one  just 
waking  from  sleep,  numbed  and  stupefied.  The 
words  of  the  judge  rang  in  his  ears,  —  "Circum 
stances  against  the  accused."  The  accused  1  The 
prisoner!  He  had  been  a  prisoner.  All  the  world 
would  know  of  it,  but  would  not  know  that  he  was 
innocent.  How  could  he  bear  it?  It  was  a  crush 
ing  agony.  Then  there  came  to  him  the  words  of 
the  psalm  sung  on  Sunday, — 

u  My  times  are  in  thy  hand, 

Why  should  I  doubt  or  fear? 
My  Father's  hand  will  never  cause 
His  child  a  needless  tear." 

So  he  was  comforted  in  the  thought  that  it  was  for 
his  good ;   but  he  could  n't  see  how.     He  resolved 
to  bear  it  manfully,  conscious  of  his  innocence,  and 
trusting  in  God  that  he  would  vindicate  his  honor. 
5  o 


98  Winning  his   Way. 

He  went  home  and  told  his  mother  all  that  had 
happened.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that  it  did  not 
shock  her,  as  he  supposed  it  would. 

"  I  know  you  are  innocent,  Paul,"  she  said,  kissing 
him.  "I  am  not  surprised  at  what  has  happened. 
You  are  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy.  I  have  been 
expecting  that  something  would  befall  you,  for  you 
have  been  highly  prospered,  and  prosperity  brings 
enemies.  It  will  all  come  out  right  in  the  end." 
Thus  his  mother  soothed  him,  and  tried  to  lift  the 
great  weight  from  his  heart 

He  was  innocent,  but  half  of  the  community 
thought  him  guilty.  "He  did  it,  —  he  did  it,"  — 
said  Miss  Dobb  to  all  her  neighbors.  What  should 
he  do  ?  How  could  he  establish  his  innocence  ? 
How  remove  all  suspicion  ?  Ought  he  to  resign  his 
position  as  leader  of  the  choir  ?  or  should  he  retain 
it?  But  the  committee  of  the  society  settled  that. 
"  After  what  has  happened,  you  will  see  the  propriety 
of  giving  up  your  position  as  leader  of  the  choir," 
said  they.  "Also  your  class  in  the  Sunday-school," 
said  the  Superintendent 

O,  how  crushing  it  was  1  He  was  an  outcast,  —  a 
vile,  miserable  wretch,  —  a  hypocrite,  —  a  mean, 


Paul's  Friends.  99 

good-for-nothing  fellow,  —  a  scoundrel, — a  thief,  —  a 
robber,  —  in  the  estimation  of  those  who  had  re- 
spected him.  They  did  not  speak  to  him  on  the 
street  Colonel  Dare,  who  usually  had  a  pleasant 
word,  did  not  notice  him.  He  met  Daphne  Dare, 
but  she  crossed  the  street  to  avoid  him.  How  ter- 
rible the  days !  How  horrible  the  nights  1  He  tossed 
and  tumbled,  and  turned  upon  his  bed.  There  was 
a  fire  in  his  bones.  His  flesh  was  hot  His  brain 
was  like  a  smouldering  furnace.  If  he  dropped  off 
to  sleep,  it  was  but  for  a  moment,  and  he  awoke 
with  a  start,  to  feel  the  heat  burning  up  his  soul  with 
its  slow,  consuming  flame. 

At  evening  twilight  he  wandered  by  the  river-side 
to  cool  his  fever,  dipping  his  hand  into  the  stream 
and  bathing  his  brow.  He  stood  upon  the  bridge 
and  looked  over  the  railing  into  the  surging  waters. 
A  horrible  thought  came  over  him.  Why  not  jump 
in  and  let  the  swollen  current  bear  him  away  ?  What 
use  was  it  to  live,  with  his  good  name  gone,  and  all 
the  future  a  blank  ?  He  banished  the  thought  He 
would  live  on  and  trust  in  God. 

He  heard  a  step  upon  the  bridge,  and,  looking  up, 
beheld  Azalia.  She  had  been  out  gathering  the 


ioo  Winning  his   Way. 

faded  leaves  of  autumn,  and  late-blossoming  flowers, 
in  the  woods  beyond  the  river.  "  Will  she  speak  to 
me  ? "  was  the  question  which  rose  in  his  mind.  His 
heart  stood  still  in  that  moment  of  suspense.  She 
came  towards  him,  held  out  her  hand,  and  said, 
"Good  evening,  Paul." 

"Then  you  do  not  turn  away  from  me?" 
"No,  Paul,  I  don't  believe  that  you  are  a  thief/ 
Tears  came  to  his  eyes  as  he  took  her  proffered 
hand,  —  tears  which  welled  up  from  his  heart  and 
which  saved  it  from  bursting.  "  O  Azalia,  if  you  had 
turned  from  me,  I  should  have  died  !  I  have  suffered 
terrible  agony,  but  I  can  live  now.  I  am  innocent." 
"  I  believe  you,  Paul,  and  I  shall  still  be  as  I  have 
been,  your  friend.  There  is  my  pledge,"  she  said, 
setting  down  her  basket,  and  putting  a  frost-flower 
into  a  button-hole  of  his  threadbare  coat.  Then,  to 
make  him  forget  that  the  world  was  looking  coldly 
upon  him,  she  showed  him  the  flowers  she  had  gath- 
ered, and  the  gorgeous  maple  leaves,  —  scarlet,  or- 
ange, purple,  and  crimson,  and  talked  of  their  mar- 
vellous beauty.  And  when,  with  a  smile,  she  said 
"  Good  night,"  and  went  tripping  homeward,  his  heart 
was  so  full  of  gratitude  that  he  could  not  utter  his 


Paul's  -Fn5n&  101 

thanks.  lie  could  only  say  in  his  heart,  "  God  bless 
her."  It  was  as  if  he  had  met  an  angel  in  the  way, 
and  had  been  blessed.  He  stood  there  while  the 
twilight  deepened,  and  felt  his  heart  grow  strong 
again.  He  went  home.  His  mother  saw  by  the 
deep-settled  determination  on  his  face,  by  his  calm- 
ness, and  by  his  sad  smile,  that  he  was  not  utterly 
broken  down  and  overwhelmed  by  the  trouble  which, 
like  a  wave  of  the  sea,  had  rolled  upon  him. 

"  There  is  one  who  does  not  pass  me  by ;  Azalia 
is  still  a  friend,"  he  said. 

"There  are  several  whom  you  may  count  upon 
as  being  still  your  friends,"  she  replied. 

"Who  are  they,  mother?" 

"  God  and  the  angels,  my  son." 

So  she  comforted  him,  telling  him  that  the  best 
way  to  put  down  a  lie  was  to  live  it  down,  and  that 
the  time  would  surely  come  when  his  honor  and  in- 
tegrity would  be  vindicated. 

When  they  kneeled  together  to  offer  their  evening 
prayer,  and  when  his  mother  asked  that  the  affliction 
might  work  out  for  him  an  eternal  weight  of  glory, 
he  resolved  that  he  would,  with  God's  help,  live 
down  th'e  lie,  and  wait  patiently,  bearing  the  igno- 


IO2          •'  "      Winning  his.  Way. 

miny  and  shame  and  the  cold  looks  of  those  who 
had  been  his  friends,  till  his  character  for  truth  and 
honesty  was  re-established.  He  was  calm  and  peace- 
ful now.  Once  more  he  heard  sweet  music  as  he 
lay  upon  his  bed.  Through  the  night  the  winds,  the 
waterfall,  the  crickets,  seemed  to  be  saying  with 
Azalia,  "  We  are  still  your  friends,  —  still  your 
friends  —  your  friends  —  your,  friends  1 " 


In  a  Trap.  103 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IN    A    TRAP. 

A  KIND  word,  a  look,  a  smile,  a  warm  grasp 
of  the  hand  by  a  friend  in  time  of  trouble,  — 
how  they  remain  in  memory !  Sometimes  they  are 
like  ropes  thrown  to  drowning  men.  The  meeting 
between  Paul  and  Azalia  upon  the  bridge  was  a 
turning  point  in  his  life.  He  felt,  when  he  saw  her 
approaching,  that,  if  she  passed  him  by,  looking 
upon  him  as  a  vile  outcast  from  society,  he  might 
as  well  give  up  a  contest  where  everything  was  against 
him.  He  loved  truth  and  honor  for  their  own  sake. 
He  remembered  the  words  of  his  grandfather,  that 
truth  and  honor  are  better  than  anything  else  in 
the  world.  Many  a  night  he  had  heard  the  winds 
repeating  those  words  as  they  whistled  through  the 
cracks  and  crevices  of  his  chamber,  rattling  the 
shingles  upon  the  roof,  saying  over  and  over  and 
over  again,  Truth  and  honor,  truth  and  honor.  He 
had  tried  to  be  true,  honest,  and  manly,  not  only 
to  make  himself  better,  but  to  help  everybody  else 


IO4  Winning  his  Way. 

who  had  a  hard  time  in  life ;  but  if  Rev.  Mr.  Sur* 
plice,  Judge  Adams,  Colonel  Dare,  and  all  the  good 
folks  looked  upon  him  as  a  thief,  what  was  the  use 
of  trying  to  rise  ?  There  was  one  who  was  still  his 
friend.  Her  sweet,  sad  smile  followed  him.  He 
saw  it  all  the  time,  by  day  and  by  night,  while  awake 
and  while  asleep.  He  felt  the  warm,  soft  touch  of 
her  hand,  and  heard  her  words.  He  remembered 
that  God  is  always  on  the  side  of  truth,  and  so 
he  resolved  to  go  right  on  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, and  live  down  the  accusation. 

But  he  could  n't  go  on.  "  After  what  has  hap- 
pened, it  is  expedient  that  you  should  leave  the  choir 
till  your  innocence  is  established,"  said  Deacon  Hard- 
hack,  who  was  chairman  of  the  singing  committee,  — 
a  good,  well-meaning  man,  who  was  very  zealous  for 
maintaining  what  he  considered  to  be  the  faith  once 
delivered  to  the  saints.  He  carried  on  an  iron  foun- 
dery,  and  people  sometimes  called  him  a  cast-iron 
man.  He  believed  that  it  was  the  duty  of  every* 
body  to  do  exactly  right;  if  they  did  wrong,  or  if 
they  were  suspected  of  doing  wrong,  they  must  take 
the  consequences.  Miss  Dobb  told  him  that  Pauf 
ought  to  be  pitched  out  of  the  choir.  "  I  tK 


In  a  Trap.  105 

so  too,  Miss  Dobb,"  said  the  Deacon,  and  it  was 
done. 

It  required  a  great  bracing  of  Paul's  nerves,  on 
Sunday  morning,  to  go  to  church,  and  take  a  seat 
in  the  pew  down  stairs,  with  every  eye  upon  him  ; 
but  he  did  it  manfully. 

The  bell  ceased  tolling.  It  was  time  for  services 
to  commence,  but  there  was  no  choir.  The  singers' 
seats  were  empty.  Azalia,  Daphne,  Hans,  and  all 
the  others,  were  down  stairs.  Mr.  Surplice  waited 
awhile,  then  read  the  hymn ;  but  there  was  a  dead 
silence,  —  no  turning  of  leaves,  no  blending  of  sweet 
voices,  no  soul-thrilling  strains,  such  as  had  reformed 
Farmer  Harrow,  and  given  rest  to  his  horses  one  day 
in  seven.  People  looked  at  the  singers'  seats,  then  at 
Paul,  then  at  each  other.  The  silence  became  awk- 
ward. Deacon  Hardhack  was  much  exercised  in  mind. 
He  had  been  very  zealous  in  committee  meeting  for 
having  Paul  sent  down  stairs,  but  he  had  not  looked 
forward  to  see  what  effect  it  would  have  upon  the 
choir.  Mr.  Cannel,  who  owned  a  coal-mine,  sat  in 
front  of  Paul.  He  was  not  on  good  terms  with 
Deacon  Hardhack,  for  they  once  had  a  falling  out 
on  business  matters,  and  so  whatever  the  Deacon 
$* 


I  ob  Winning  Ms   Way. 

attempted  to  do  in  society  affairs  was  opposed  by 
Mr.  Cannel.  They  were  both  members  cf  the  sing- 
ing committee,  and  had  a  stormy  time  on  Saturday 
evening.  Mr.  Cannel  did  what  he  could  to  keep 
Paul  in  the  choir,  but  the  Deacon  had  carried  the 
day. 

"  I  '11  triumph  yet,"  was  the  thought  which  flashed 
through  Mr.  Cannel's  mind,  when  he  sawwiow  matters 
stood.  He  turned  and  nodded  to  Paul  to  strike 
up  a  tune,  but  Paul  took  no  notice  of  him.  Mr. 
Cannel  half  rose  from  his  seat,  and  whispered  hoarse- 
ly, "  Strike  up  a  tune,  Paul."  All  the  congregation 
saw  him.  Paul  made  no  movement,  but  sat  perfectly 
still,  not  even  looking  towards  Mr.  Cannel.  Deacon 
Hardhack  saw  what  Mr.  Cannel  was  up  to,  and  re 
solved  to  head  him  off.  He  rose  from  his  seat, 
and  said  aloud,  "Brother  Quaver,  will  you  pitch  a 
tune  ? " 

Again,  as  in  other  days,  Mr.  Quaver  rubbed  his 
great  red  nose,  as  trumpeters  wipe  their  instruments 
before  giving  a  blast.  Then,  after  a  loud  Ahem ! 
which  made  the  church  ring,  he  began  to  sing.  It 
was  so  strange  a  sound,  so  queer,  so  unlike  the  sweet 
music  which  had  charmed  the  congregation  through 


In  a  Trap.  107 

the  summer,  that  there  was  smiling  all  over  the 
church.  His  voice  trembled  and  rattled,  and  sounded 
so  funny  that  a  little  boy  laughed  aloud,  which  dis- 
concerted him,  and  he  came  near  breaking  down. 
Miss  Gamut  sat  in  one  corner  of  the  church,  many 
pews  from  Mr.  Quaver.  She  attempted  to  join, 
but  was  so  far  away  that  she  felt,  as  she  afterwards 
remarked,  like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret.  Paul  did 
not  sing.  He  thought  that,  if  it  was  an  offence 
for  him  to  sing  in  the  choir,  it  would  be  equally 
offensive  to  sing  in  the  congregation.  Azalia, 
Daphne,  Hans,  and  all  the  members  of  the  choir, 
who  were  sitting  in  the  pews  with  their  parents, 
were  silent.  They  had  talked  the  matter  over  before 
church. 

"  Paul  is  innocent  ;  he  has  only  been  accused. 
It  is  n't  right  to  condemn  him,  or  turn  from  him, 
till  we  know  he  is  not  worthy  of  our  confidence.  I 
met  him  on  the  bridge  last  night,  and  he  looked 
as  if  he  had  n't  a  friend  in  the  world.  I  shall  stand 
by  him,"  said  Azalia. 

"  Deacon  Hardback  and  Miss  Dobb  mean  to  break 
down  the  choir.  It  is  a  conspiracy,"  said  Hans,  who 
felt  that  Paul's  case  was  his  own. 


IO8  Winning  his   Way. 

Daphne  began  to  look  at  the  matter  in  a  new  light, 
and  felt  ashamed  of  herself  for  having  passed  by 
Paul  without  noticing  him. 

After  service  there  was  a  great  deal  of  loud  talk- 
ing. 

"  If  that  is  the  kind  of  singing  you  are  going  to 
have,  I  '11  stay  at  home,"  said  Farmer  Harrow. 

"  It  would  be  a  desecration  of  the  sanctuary,  and 
we  should  be  the  aiders  and  abettors  of  sin  and 
iniquity,  if  we  allowed  a  fellow  who  has  been  accused 
of  stealing  to  lead  the  singing,"  said  Deacon  Hard- 
hack  to  Mr.  Cannel. 

"  Let  him  that  is  without  sin  among  you  cast  the 
first  stone,"  was  Mr.  Cannel's  reply,  and  he  felt  that 
he  had  given  the  Deacon  a  good  hit. 

"  Paul  has  n't  had  his  deserts  by  a  long  chalk,"  said 
Miss  Dobb. 

"He  has  been  treated  shamefully,"  said  Azalia, 
indignantly. 

All  took  sides,  some  for  Paul,  and  some  against 
him.  Old  things,  which  had  no  connection  with 
the  matter,  were  raked  up.  Mr.  Cannel  twitted  Dea- 
con Hardback  of  cheating  him,  while  on  the  other 
hand  the  Deacon  accused  Mr.  Cannel  of  giving  false 


In  a  Trap.  109 

weight  in  selling  coal.  The  peace  and  harmony  of 
the  church  and  society  were  disturbed. 

Mr.  Quaver  felt  very  sore  over  that  laugh  which 
the  little  boy  had  started.  He  knew  his  voice  was 
cracked,  and  that  his  singing  days  were  over.  "I 
am  not  going  to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  to  be  laughed 
at,"  he  said,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  n'l 
sing  another  note  to  please  the  Deacon  or  anybody 
else. 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Quaver's  seat  was  empty. 
Mr.  Surplice  read  a  hymn  and  waited  for  some  one 
to  begin.  Mr.  Cannel  once  more  nodded  to  Paul, 
but  Paul  took  no  notice  of  it,  and  so  there  was  no 
singing.  A  very  dull  service  it  was.  After  the  bene- 
diction, Mr.  Cannel,  Colonel  Dare,  and  Judge  Adams 
said  to  Paul,  "We  hope  you  will  lead  the  singing 
next  Sunday." 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  been  requested  by  the  chair- 
man of  the  committee  to  leave  the  choir.  When  fu 
invites  me  to  return  I  will  take  the  matter  into  con- 
sideration ;  till  then  I  shall  take  no  part  in  the  sing- 
ing,"—  he  replied,  calmly  and  decidedly. 

Through  the  week  Paul  went  on  with  his  business, 
working  and  studying,  bringing  all  his  will  and  energy 


no  Winning  /us   Way. 

into  action  j  for  he  resolved  that  he  would  not  let 
what  had  taken  place  break  him  down. 

Mr.  Noggin  believed  him  guilty.  "  fie  will  steal 
your  grapes,  Mr.  Leatherby,  if  you  don't  look  out," 
he  said  to  the  shoemaker,  who  had  a  luxuriant  vine 
in  his  garden,  which  was  so  full  of  ripe  clusters  that 
people's  mouths  watered  when  they  saw  them  purpling 
in  the  October  sun. 

Mr.  Leatherby  concluded  to  keep  his  eyes  open,  — 
also  to  set  a  trap.  He  waited  till  evening,  that  no 
one  might  see  what  he  was  about.  His  garden  was 
a  warm,  sunny  spot,  upon  a  hillside.  A  large  butter- 
nut-tree, with  wide-spreading  branches,  gave  support 
to  the  vine.  Mr.  Leatherby  filled  a  hogshead  with 
stones,  headed  H  up,  rolled  it  to  the  spot,  and  tilted 
it  so  nicely  that  a  slight  jar  would  send  it  rolling  down 
the  hill.  Then  fastening  one  end  of  a  rope  to  the 
hogshead^  ne  threw  the  other  end  over  a  branch  of 
the  tree,  brought  it  down  to  the  ground,  and  made 
a  noose.  Then,  taking  a  board,  he  put  one  end 
upon  the  hogshead  and  rested  the  other  end  on  the 
ground,  where  he  had  placed  the  noose.  He  ex- 
pected that  whoever  came  after  the  grapes  would 
walk  up  the  board  to  reach  the  great  clusters  whicb 


In  a  Trap.  HI 

hung  overhead,  that  the  hogshead  would  begin  to 
roll,  the  board  would  drop,  the  noose  draw,  and  the 
thief  would  find  himself  dangling  by  the  heels.  It 
was  admirably  contrived.  About  midnight  Mr.  Leath- 
erby  heard  the  board  drop.  "  I  Ve  got  him  ! "  he 
shouted,  springing  out  of  bed,  alarming  Mrs.  Leath- 
erby,  who  thought  he  was  crazy.  He  had  not  told 
her  of  the  trap. 

"  Got  whom  ?  Got  what  ? "  she  exclaimed,  won- 
dering what  he  meant. 

"  Paul  Parker,  who  has  come  to  steal  the  grapes," 
he  said,  as  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

He  went  out,  and  found  that  it  was  not  Paul,  but 
Bob  Swift,  who  was  dangling,  head  downwards.  The 
noose  had  caught  him  by  one  leg.  A  very  laughable 
appearance  he  made,  as  he  kicked  and  swung  his 
arms,  and  swayed  to  and  fro,  vainly  struggling  to 
get  away. 

"  So  you  are  the  thief,  are  you  ?  How  do  you  like 
being  hung  up  by  the  heels  ?  Are  the  grapes  sweet 
or  sour  ? "  Mr.  Leatherby  asked,  not  offering  to 
relieve  him. 

"  Please  let  me  go,  sir  I  won't  do  so  again,"  said 
Bob,  whining. 


112  Winning  Jus  Way. 

"  It  won't  hurt  you  to  hang  awhile,  I  reckon,"  Mr. 
Leatherby  replied,  going  into  the  house  and  telling 
Mrs.  Leatherby  what  had  happened,  then  calling  up 
Mr.  Shelbarke,  who  lived  near  by,  and  also  Mr. 
Noggin. 

"  I  reckon  that  this  is  n't  your  first  trick,  Bob," 
said  Mr.  Leatherby,  when  he  returned  with  his  neigh- 
bors. He  liked  Paul,  and  had  been  loath  to  believe 
that  he  was  guilty  of  stealing.  "  It  is  you  who  have 
been  playing  tricks  all  along.  Come  now,  own  up," 
he  added. 

"It  ain't  me,  it  is  Philip,  —  he  told  me  to  come," 
said  Bob,  who  was  thoroughly  cowed  by  the  appear 
ance  of  Mr.  Noggin  and  the  others,  and  who  feared 
that  he  would  be  harshly  dealt  with. 

"O  ho!     Philip   Funk  is  at  the  bottom,  is  he? 
Mr.  Leatherby  exclaimed,   remembering  how  Philip 
suggested  that  it  was  Paul  who  had  stuffed  his  chim- 
ney with  old  paper. 

"If  you  will  let  me  down,  I  will  tell  you  all," 
said  Bob,  groaning  with  pain  from  the  cord  cutting 
into  his  ankle. 

"We  will  hear  your  confession  before  we  let  you 
down,"  said  Mr.  Leatherby. 


In  a  Trap.  113 

Bob  begged,  and  whined,  but  to  no  purpose,  till 
he  told  them  .all  about  the  Night-Hawks,  —  that 
Philip  set  them  on,  and  that  Paul  did  not  take  Mr. 
Noggin's  honey,  nor  smoke  out  Mr.  Leatherby.  It 
was  Philip  who  sheared  Miss  Dobb's  puppy,  who 
took  Mr.  Shelbarke's  watermelons,  and  robbed  Dea- 
con Hardhack's  hen-roost.  When  Bob  had  told  all, 
they  let  him  go.  He  went  off  limping,  but  very 
glad  that  he  was  free. 

In  the  morning  Mr.  Leatherby  and  Mr.  Noggin 
reported  what  had  happened;  but  Philip  put  on  a 
bold  face,  and  said  that  Bob  was  a  liar,  and  that 
there  was  n't  a  word  of  truth  in  what  he  had  said. 
The  fact  that  he  was  caught  stealing  Mr.  Leather- 
by's  grapes  showed  that  he  was  a  fellow  not  to  be 
believed ;  for  if  he  was  mean  enough  to  steal,  he 
would  not  hesitate  to  lie. 

Deacon  Hardback  called  upon  Paul.  "I  have 
been  requested  by  the  committee  to  call  and  see 
you.  They  wish  you  to  take  charge  of  the  singing 
again,"  he  said,  with  some  confusion  of  manner; 
and  added,  "Perhaps  we  were  hasty  in  the  matter 
when  we  asked  you  to  sit  down  stairs,  but  we  are 
villing  to  let  bygones  be  bygones." 


114  Winning  his   Way. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  there  is  no  suspicion 
against  me?"  Paul* asked. 

"Yes  —  sir  —  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  Deacon, 
slowly  and  hesitatingly. 

"Then  you  may  say  to  the  committee  that  I  will 
do  what  I  can  to  make  the  singing  acceptable  as 
a  part  of  the  service,"  Paul  replied. 

There  was  a  hearty  shaking  of  hands  with  Paul, 
by  all  the  choir,  at  the  rehearsal  on  Saturday  night. 
They  were  glad  to  meet  him  once  more,  and  when 
they  looked  upon  his  frank,  open  countenance,  those 
who  for  a  moment  had  distrusted  him  felt  that  they 
had  done  him  a  great  wrong.  And  on  Sunday  morn 
ing  how  sweet  the  music !  It  thrilled  the  hearts  ol 
the  people,  and  they  too  were  ashamed  when  they 
reflected  that  they  had  condemned  Paul  without 
cause.  They  were  glad  he  was  in  his  place  once 
more.  Mr.  Surplice  in  his  prayer  gave  thanks  that 
the  peace  and  harmony  of  the  congregation  was 
restored,  and  that  the  wicked  one  had  not  been  per- 
mitted to  rule.  When  he  said  that,  Mr.  Cannel  won- 
dered if  he  had  reference  to  Deacon  Hardhack. 
Everybody  rejoiced  that  the  matter  was  settled, — 
even  Miss  Dobb,  who  did  not  care  to  ha^re  all^the 
old  things  brought  up. 


In  a  Trap.  115 

When  the  service  was  over,  when  Paul  sat  once 
more  by  his  mother's  side  in  their  humble  home, 
before  the  old  fireplace,  when  he  listened  to  her 
words,  reminding  him  of  all  God's  goodness,  —  how 
He  had  carried  him  through  the  trial,  —  Paul  could 
not  keep  back  his  tears,  and  he  resolved  -that  he 
would  always  put  his  trust  in  God. 


n6  Winning  his   Way. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

KEEPING    SCHOOL. 

THE  teacher  of  the  New  Hope  school,  engaged 
for  the  winter,  proved  to  be  a  poor  stick.  He 
allowed  the  scholars  to  throw  spit-balls,  snap  apple- 
seeds,  eat  molasses  candy,  pull  each  other's  hair, 
and  have  fine  frolics.  Paul  wished  very  much  to 
attend  school,  to  study  Latin,  and  fit  himself  for 
College ;  but  when  he  saw  how  forceless  a  fellow 
Mr.  Supple  was,  he  concluded  that  it  would  be  lost 
time  to  attend  such  a  school.  He  knew  that  knowl- 
edge is  power,  and  he  longed  to  obtain  a  thorough 
education.  Sometimes,  when  he  thought  how  much 
Judge  Adams  knew,  and  when  he  read  books  writ- 
ten by  learned  men,  he  felt  that  he  knew  next  to 
nothing.  But  whenever  he  felt  like  giving  up  the 
contest  with  adverse  circumstances,  a  walk  in  the 
fresh,  cool,  bracing  air,  or  a  night's  sleep,  revived 
his  flagging  spirit.  The  thought  often  came,  "What 
would  Daphne  or  Azalia  say  if  they  knew  how 
chicken-hearted  I  am?"  So  his  pride  gave  him 


Keeping  School.  117 

strength.  Though  he  did  not  attend  school,  he 
made  1301  i  progress  studying  at  home. 

Matters  :ame  to  a  crisis  in  the  school,  for  one  day 
the  big  boys  —  Bob  Swift  among  others  —  carried 
Mr.  Supple  out  of  the  school-house,  dag  a  hole  in 
a  snow-drift,  and  stuck  him  into  it  with  his  head 
down  and  his  heels  up.  Then  they  took  possession 
of  the  school-house  and  played  tag  over  the  benches 
for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Mr.  Supple  did  not  attempt 
~o  enter  the  school-house  again,  bat  picked  up  his 
hat,  went  to  his  boarding-house,  packed  his  trunk, 
and  left  town. 

After  a  week's  vacation,  Mr.  'Oannel,  who  was  the 
school-agent,  obtained  another  teacher,  —  a  thin,  pale- 
faced,  quick-tempered  young  man,  —  Mr.  Thrasher. 
"I'll  bring  them  to  their  faumps,"  he  said,  when 
Mr.  Cannel  engaged  him. 

*•  1  intend  to  have  order  in  this  school.  I  shall 
lick  the  first  boy  who  throws  a  spit-ball,  or  who  does 
anything  contrary  to  the  rules  of  the  school,"  said 
Mr.  Thrasher,  flourishing  a  raw  hide,  on  the  first 
morning.  He  read  a  long  list  of  rules,  numbered 
from  one  up  to  eighteen.  Before  he  finished  his 
rules,  a  little  boy  laughed,  and  caught  a  whipping. 


n8  Winning  his   Way. 

Before  noon  half  a  dozen  were  hauled  up.  There 
was  a  council  of  war  at  noon  among  the  big  boys, 
who,  having  had  their  own  way,  were  determined 
to  keep  it.  They  agreed  to  give  Mr.  Thrasher  a 
pitched  battle.  They  had  it  in  the  afternoon;  a 
half-dozen  pounced  upon  the  master  at  once,  and 
after  a  short  struggle  put  him  out  doors.  They 
gave  a  grand  hurrah,  and  pelted  him  with  snow- 
balls, and  drove  him  up  the  street 

There  was  great  commotion  in  the  town.  Those 
who  loved  law  and  order  were  alarmed  for  the  wel- 
fare of  their  children. 

"We  must  have  a  master  who  can  rule  them,  or 
they  will  grow  up  to  be  lawless  citizens,"  said  Judge 
Adams. 

Mr.  Cannel  could  find  no  one  who  was  willing 
*o  teach  the  school. 

"I  don't  see  why  anybody  who  is  competent  to 
teach  should  be  afraid  to  undertake  the  task,"  said 
Paul  to  Mr.  Chrome,  one  day,  as  they  talked  the 
matter  over. 

Mr.  Chrome  met  Mr.  Cannel  that  evening  on  the 
street.  "If  there  is  anybody  who  is  competent  to 
keep  the  school,  it  is  Paul  Parker,"  said  Mr.  Chrome, 


Keeping  School.  119 

who  had  exalted  ideas  of  Paul's  ability  to  overcome 
difficulties. 

"  I  believe  you,"  Mr.  Cannel  replied,  and  started 
at  or:ce  to  see  Paul. 

"  I  will  think  of  it,  and  let  you  know  in  the  morn- 
ing whether  I  will  teach  or  not,"  was  Paul's  reply, 
after  hearing  what  Mr.  Cannel  had  to  say. 

He  talked  the  matter  over  with  his  mother. 

"  It  is  a  great  undertaking,  Paul ;  I  cannot  advise 
you,"  she  said. 

When  he  offered  his  evening  prayer,  he  asked  that 
God  would  direct  him.  He  thought  upon  the  subject 
during  the  night.  Could  he  carry  it  through  ?  The 
scholars  all  knew  him,  —  had  been  to  school  with 
him,  —  were  his  old  friends  and  playmates.  Bob 
Swift  was  a  ringleader ;  and  outside,  not  in  the  school, 
was  Philip,  who  would  make  all  the  trouble  he  could. 
There  was  Miss  Dobb,  who  would  like  to  have  picked 
him  to  pieces.  There  were  others  who  would  rejo'Qi 
to  see  him  fail.  But  would  it  not  be  glorious  to  suc- 
ceed,—  to  triumph  over  Miss  Dobb?  But  that  was 
an  unworthy  motive,  and  he  put  the  thought  out  of 
his  mind.  He  resolved  to  undertake  the  task,  and 
'ry  to  do  good,  —  to  guide  and  mould  the  minds 


120  Winning-  his   Way. 

of  the  scholars,  —  those  who  were  to  be  men  and 
women,  who  were  to  act  an  important  part  in  life, 
and  who  were  to  live  not  only  here,  but  in  another 
world,  —  who,  he  hoped,  would  be  companions 
of  the  angels.  Would  it  not  be  worth  while  to 
aid  in  overcoming  evil,  in  establishing  law  and 
order,  —  to  inculcate  a  love  of  virtue,  truth,  and 
honor  ? 

It  would  require  nerve,  energy,  patience,  and  wis- 
dom. "  I  '11  try  it,"  he  said  to  himself,  after  looking 
at  all  sides. 

When  it  was  known  that  Paul  was  going  to  try 
his  hand  at  school-keeping  the  big  boys  chuckled. 
"  We  '11  sweeten  him,"  said  Bob,  rubbing  his  hands, 
and  anticipating  the  glorious  fun  they  would  have. 

Conscious  that  he  had  a  task  before  him  which  would 
try  him  severely,  Paul  yet  went  bravely  to  his  work, 
locking  the  door  as  he  entered  the  school-room,  and 
putting  the  key  in  his  pocket.  The  big  boys  looked 
at  each  other,  somewhat  amazed,  each  anxious  to 
see  what  the  others  thought  of  it.  He  walked  delib- 
erately to  hJs  desk.  "  It  is  always  best  to  begin  an 
undertaking  rightly,"  said  Paul,  standing  erect  and 
looking  calmly  round  the  room.  "  There  is  no  bettet 


Keeping  School.  121 

way  than  to  ask  our  Heavenly  Fathet  to  direct  us, 
and  so  we  will  all  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayei,"  he  said 
and  waited  till  the  room  was  so  still  that  the  scholars 
could  almost  hear  the  beating  of  their  hearts.  The 
stillness  filled  them  with  awe.  After  prayer  he  ad- 
dressed them,  —  not  alluding  to  anything  which  nad 
taken  place,  but  simply  saying  that  he  had  been 
employed  to  teach  them,  and  should  do  what  he  could 
to  make  the  school-room  a  pleasant  place  to  all.  He 
expected  that  they  would  obey  whatever  rules  were 
necessary  for  the  good  of  the  school,  but  did  not 
threaten  them  with  punishment 

It  was  so  unlike  what  they  had  expected  that  the 
big  boys  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it,  or  how 
to  take  it.  Bob  could  not  decide  whether  it  was 
best  to  begin  a  war,  or  wait  till  something  happened, 
and  then  have  a  grand  battle.  So  the  forenoon 
passed  without  any  disturbance. 

Philip  saw  Bob  a';  noon.  "  You  are  a  coward,  Bob, 
or  you  would  have  pitched  Paul  heels  over  head  out 
of  the  door.  I  would  if  I  were  there,  and  so  would 
you  if  you  had  as  much  gumption  as  s&  old  setting 
hen.  i  th~ag-.  you  were  going  to  -sweeten  him/* 
be  said,  with  a  sneer. 
6 


122  Winning  his   Way. 

"So  I  am,"  said  Bob,  nettled  at  the  taunt,  and 
resolving  to  drive  Paul  out  in  the  afternoon. 

When  Paul  entered  the  school-room  after  dinner, 
he  saw  at  a  glance  that  there  was  mischief  ahead. 
The  whole  school  was  on  tip-toe.  He  locked  the 
door,  and  again  put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  Bob  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  "floor  with  his  hat  on. 

"  Take  off  your  hat,  Master  Swift,  and  go  to  your 
seat,"  said  Paul. 

"  I  sha'n't  do  it,"  said  Bob,  —  who  the  next  instant 
went  spinning  round  the  room,  tumbling  over  a  chair, 
falling  upon  the  floor,  finding  himself  picked  up 
and  thrown  against  a  desk,  then  having  his  heels 
tripped  up,  and  then  set  to  whirling  so  fast  that  the 
room  seemed  all  windows.  He  was  cuffed  back- 
ward and  forward,  to  the  right  and  the  left,  pitched 
headlong,  and  jerked  back  again  so  suddenly,  that 
he  lost  his  breath.  He  was  like  a  little  child  in  the 
hands  of  a  giant  He  was  utterly  powerless.  One 
of  the  other  boys  sprang  to  help  him,  but  was  met 
by  a  blow  between  his  eyes  which  knocked  him  to 
the  floor.  A  second  started,  but  when  he  saw  what 
had  happened  he  sat  down,  Bob's  brain  was  in  a 
His  ears  were  tingling;.  He  saw  stars,  and 


Keeping  School.  1-23 

it  seemed  as  if  all  his  hair  had  been  torn  out  by  the 
roots.  He  heard  Paul  say,  once  more,  calmly,  as  at 
first,  "Take  your  seat,  Master  Swift."  He  hesitated 
a  moment,  but  when,  through  the  blinking  stars,  he 
saw  how  cool  and  decided  Paul  was,  standing  there 
as  if  nothing  had  happened,  —  when  he  saw  the  boy 
who  had  started  to  aid  him  sprawling  on  the  floor, 
and  tne  others  who  had  promised  to  help  put  Paul 
out  of  doors  sitting  in  their  seats,  —  he  knew  that 
it  was  of  no  use  to  resist.  He  took  his  seat  and 
sat  all  the  afternoon  wondering  at  Paul's  strength. 
Paul  was  surprised  to  find  himself  so  powerful  and 
athletic ;  but  then  he  remembered  that  he  had  right 
on  his  side,  which  always  helps  a  man. 

The  victory  was  won.  The  school  felt  that  he 
was  their  master.  Yet  he  had  a  pleasant  smile. 
When  they  were  tired  of  study  he  said,  "  I  see  that 
you  are  getting  dull  and  need  stirring  up."  Then 
he  told  them  a  story  which  set  them  all  laughing, 
and  so  made  them  forget  that  they  were  tired  and 
sleepy. 

At  night  he  had  a  talk  with  Bob  all  alone,  telling 
him  that  he  ought  to  be  a  good  boy  for  his  poor 
old  mother's  sake.  That  touched  Bob  in  a  tender 


124  Winning  his   Way. 

place,  fcr  he  loved  his  mother,  and  was  a  good-hearted 
fellow,  but  had  allowed  Philip  to  twist  him  round 
his  little  finger. 

"  For  her  sake,  Bob,  I  want  you  to  be  good  ;  I  will 
help  you  all  I  can,"  said  Paul.  It  was  spoken  so 
kindly  and  frankly  that  Bob  knew  Paul  meant  it 
"  Cut  loose  from  those  who  advise  you  to  do  wrong, 
and  tell  them  that  you  are  going  to  do  right,"  said 
Paul,  as  they  parted  for  the  night. 

"  I  will,"  said  Bob,  who,  as  he  thought  it  all  ovei 
that  night,  and  recalled  the  kind  words,  felt  that  Paul 
would  be  his  best  friend  if  he  did  right. 

"  I  must  get  Azalia  and  Daphne  to  help  me  make 
a  man  of  Bob,"  said  Paul  to  himself,  — "  they  can 
do  what  I  can't" 

He  called  upon  Azalia.  There  was  a  bright  fire 
on  the  hearth  in  the  sitting-room,  but  the  smile  on 
her  face,  he  thought,  was  more  pleasant  to  see. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  conquered,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  done  so,  yet ;  when 
I  can  feel  that  they  all  love  me,  then  I  may  begin 
to  think  that  it  is  a  victory.  I  have  had  a  talk 
with  Bob.  He  is  a  good  fellow,  but  under  bad 
influences.  I  want  you  to  help  me.  If  we  can 


Keeping  School.  12$ 

make  him  respect  himself,  we  shall  make  a  man  of 
him." 

"I  will  do  what  I  can,"  said  Azalia. 

When  Paul  went  away  she  sat  down  by  the  win- 
dow and  watched  him  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 
"  How  thoughtful  he  is  for  the  welfare  of  others  1 " 
was  the  thought  which  passed  through  her  mind. 
Then  she  gazed  upon  the  red  and  purple  clouds  with 
gold  and  silver  linings,  and  upon  the  clear  sunset 
sky  beyond,  till  the  twilight  faded  away,  and  the 
stars  came  out  in  the  heavens.  Paul's  words  were 
ringing  in  her  ears,  —  "I  want  you  to  help  me." 
Yes,  she  would  help  him,  for  he  was  trying  to  make 
the  world  better. 


126  Winning  his  Way. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

RALLYING    ROUND    THE    FLAG. 


came  a  gloomy  day  to  the  people  of 
-*•  New  Hope,  —  that  gloomiest  of  the  year,  of  all 
the  years,  —  that  on  which  they  received  the  astound- 
ing intelligence  that  Fort  Sumter  had  been  attacked 
by  the  people  of  South  Carolina,  and  that  Major 
Anderson  commanding  it,  with  his  little  company, 
had  been  compelled  to  surrender.  News  so  start- 
ling brought  all  the  people  into  the  streets.  They 
assembled  around  the  telegraph  office,  where  Mr. 
Magnet  read  the  despatch  ;  how  the  attack  had  been 
made  at  daybreak  on  Friday,  the  I2th  of  April,  all 
the  batteries  which  General  Beauregard  had  erected 
opening  fire  upon  the  half-starved  garrison  ;  how 
shot  and  shell  were  rained  upon  the  fort,  from 
Moultrie,  from  the  guns  on  Morris  Island,  and  from 
the  floating  battery  which  the  Rebels  had  built; 
how  Major  Anderson  coolly  ate  his  breakfast;  how 
Captain  Doubleday  fired  the  first  gun  in  reply  ;  how 
the  cannonade  went  on  all  day,  the  great  guns  roar- 


Rallying  Round  the  Flag.  127 

ing  and  jumping ;  how  the  fight  commenced  again 
next  morning;  how  the  barracks  were  set  on  fire 
by  the  shells  from  the  Rebel  guns  ;  how  manfully 
the  garrison  fought  against  the  flames,  rolling  kegs 
of  powder  into  the  sea  to  prevent  their  exploding ; 
how  the  soldiers  were  scorched  by  the  heat  and 
almost  suffocated  by  the  smoke ;  how  the  flag-staff 
was  shot  away ;  how  the  flag  was  nailed  to  the 
broken  mast ;  how  the  brave  little  band  held  out 
till  their  powder  was  almost  exhausted,  and  till  there 
was  nothing  to  eat  but  raw  salt  pork ;  how  at  last, 
after  thirty-six  hours'  fighting,  Major  Anderson  sur- 
rendered the  fort,  saluting  his  flag  as  he  hauled  it 
down,  carrying  it  away  with  him,  being  permitted  to 
sail  with  his  company  to  New  York  ;  and  how  the 
President  had  called  for  seventy-five  thousand  men 
to  suppress  the  rebellion.  The  people  held  their 
breath  while  Mr.  Magnet  was  reading,  and  when  he 
had  finished  looked  at  one  another  in  mournful  si- 
lence. The  flag  of  their  country  was  trailed  in  the 
dust,  and  dishonored  in  the  sight  of  the  nations. 
They  could  not  have  felt  worse  if  they  had  lost  a 
dear  friend  by  death. 

"The  country  is  gone,   gone,   gone,"  said  Judge 
Adams,  wiping  the  tears  from  his  eyes. 


i28  Winning  his  Way. 

"  I  reckon  not,  Judge,"  said  Colonel  Dare,  "  the 
people  will  have  something  to  say  about  this  insult 
to  the  flag.  They  will  wipe  out  the  disgrace  by 
sweeping  those  scoundrels  into  the  sea."  The  Colo- 
nel usually  looked  on  the  bright  side  of  things.  He 
recalled  the  trainings  of  other  days,  when  his  regi- 
ment paraded  on  the  green  and  had  a  sham-fight. 
He  wished  that  he  were  once  more  in  command ;  he 
would  march  to  Charleston,  burn  the  city,  and  sow 
it  with  salt. 

"The  question  is,  whether  a  sovereign  State  has 
not  a  right  to  secede  if  she  chooses,"  said  Mr.  Funk, 
—  for  he  and  Philip  were  the  only  persons  in  New 
Hope  who  were  not  sorrowful  over  the  intelligence. 
Mr.  Funk  was  a  native  of  Virginia,  and  had  much 
to  say  about  the  superiority  of  Southern  gentlemen 
over  all  other  men,  —  how  noble  and  chivalric  they 
were. 

"I  am  glad  that  the  President  has  called  for 
seventy-five  thousand  men  to  crush  the  vipers,"  said 
the  Colonel. 

"He  can't  do  it.  It  won't  be  constitutional. 
You  can't  coerce  a  sovereign  State,"  said  Mr.  Funk. 

"  We  will  do  it    Let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Funk,  thai 


Rallying  Round  the  Flag.  129 

this  is  a  government  of  the  people,  —  the*  whole 
people,  —  and  that  the  old  flag  which  has  been 
stricken  from  the  walls  of  Sumter  shall  go  up  there, 
if  it  takes  a  million  of  men  to  put  it  there ! " 

"  You  can't  do  it.  One  Southerner  can  whip  five 
Yankees  any  day,"  said  Philip. 
.  Colonel  Dare  took  no  notice  of  what  Philip  said. 
And  he  was  too  much  depressed  by  the  news  to  enter 
into  an  argument  with  Mr.  Funk  upon  the  right  of  a 
State  to  secede  from  the  Union. 

One  by  one  the  people  went  to  their  homes,  med- 
itating upon  what  they  had  heard,  and  wondering 
what  next  would  happen.  They  could  not  work  \ 
they  could  only  think  of  the  terrible  event. 

What  a  gloomy  day  it  was  to  Paul  Parker !  He 
went  home,  sat  down  before  the  fire,  and  looked  into 
the  glowing  coals.  The  gun  which  his  grandfather 
carried  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  which  in  his  hands  had 
brought  down  many  a  squirrel  from  the  highest  trees, 
was  hanging  in  its  usual  place.  He  felt  like  shoul- 
dering it  and  marching  for  Charleston.  He  recalled 
the  stories  which  his  grandfather  had  told  him  there 
upon  the  hearth,  of  Bunker  Hill  and  Saratoga.  Many 
times  he  had  wished  that  he  had  lived  in  those 
6»  i 


130  Winning  his 

glorious  days,  to  be  a  patriot,  and  assist  in  securing 
the  independence  of  America.  But  now  the  work 
which  his  grandfather  and  the  Revolutionary  sires 
had  accomplished  seemed  to  be  all  lost.  It  made 
him  sick  at  heart  to  think  of  it.  Would  the  people 
resent  the  insult  which  South  Carolina  had  given 
to  the  flag  ?  What  would  the  President  do  ?  What 
if  he  did  nothing  ?  What  would  become  of  the 
country  ?  What  would  become  of  liberty,  justice, 
truth,  and  right  ?  O,  how  hard  it  was  to  see  them 
all  stricken  down,  —  to  think  that  the  world  was 
turning  backward  !  He  looked  into  the  coals  till 
he  could  see  great  armies  meeting  in  battle,  — houses 
in  flames,  and  the  country  drenched  in  blood.  He 
sat  motionless,  forgetful  of  everything  but  the  terrible 
intelligence  and  the  gloomy  future.  What  part  should 
he  take  in  the  contest  ?  What  could  he  do  ?  The 
President  had  called  for  men  to  help  raise  the  flag 
once  more  upon  the  walls  of  Sumter ;  could  he  leave 
his  home,  his  mother,  his  friends  ?  These  were  try- 
ing questions  ;  but  he  felt  that  he  could  go  wher- 
ever duty  called  him. 

Colonel   Dare,    as   he    reflected   upon  what    had 
happened,   saw  that  the  people  needed   stirring  up 


Rallying  Round  the  Flag.  131 

to  sustain  the  President;  that  the  Rebellion  must 
be  put  down,  or  there  would  be  an  end  of  all 
government.  He  resolved  to  get  up  a  public  meet- 
ing. "  We  will  have  it  this  evening,  and  you  must 
be  chairman,"  he  said  to  Judge  Adams. 

He  called  upon  Rev.  Mr.  Surplice.  "  I  want 
you  to  open  the  meeting  by  prayer,"  he  said,  "  for 
these  are  sober  days.  We  need  God's  help.  If 
we  ask  Him,  He  will  help  us.  And  you  must  make 
a  speech.  Come  down  on  the  Rebels,"  he  added, 
with  sudden  indignation  ;  "  curse  them,  as  David 
cursed  the  enemies  of  God.  You,  who  are  watchman 
on  the  walls  of  Zion,  must  lead  off,  and  the  people 
will  follow.  Their  hearts  are  burning  within  them  ; 
the  kindlings  are  laid  ;  strike  the  match  now,  and 
there  will  be  such  a  flame  of  patriotism  as  the  world 
never  saw." 

"  We  shall  want  singing,"  he  said  to  Paul.  "  You 
must  get  that  up." 

He  engaged  Mr.  Tooter  to  be  there  with  his  fife, 
and  Mr.  Noggin  with  his  drum.  These  two  were  old 
companions  on  training  days.  They  had  drank  many 
glasses  of  cider  together,  and  had  played  "  Yankee 
Doodle,"  and  "  The  Campbells  are  coming,"  and 


132  Winning  his   Way. 

u  Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  Morning,"  on  many  oc- 
casions. 

"  We  shall  expect  some  resolutions  and  a  speech 
from  you,"  he  said  to  Squire  Capias. 

Thus  he  laid  out  the  work,  and  entered  upon  it 
with  so  much  zeal,  that  all  hands  caught  the  spirit 
of  his  enthusiasm.  Judge  Adams,  who  had  been 
very  much  depressed,  became  more  cheerful,  and 
thought  over  what  he  should  say  upon  the  occa- 
sion. Rev.  Mr.  Surplice  looked  through  the  Psalms 
and  Isaiah  and  the  New  Testament  to  find  the  Scrip- 
ture most  appropriate  to  read.  Squire  Capias  sat 
down  by  his  round  table  in  his  dingy  office,  ran  his 
fingers  through  his  long  black  hair,  and  thought  over 
his  speech.  Paul  and  Azalia,  with  Hans,  went  to  Colo- 
nel Dare's,  and,  with  Daphne,  rehearsed  the  "  Star- 
Spangled  Banner,"  and  "  America,"  while  Mr.  Noggin 
put  a  new  cord  into  his  drum,  which  had  been  lying 
for  months  in  his  garret,  and  was  covered  with  dust. 

Evening  came.  The  sexton  rang  the  bell  of  the 
church,  —  not  soberly  and  steadily,  but  he  tugged 
with  all  his  might  at  the  rope,  throwing  the  bell  over 
and  over,  —  ringing  as  if  the  whole  town  was  in  a 
blaze.  The  farmers  out  on  the  hills  heard  it,  and 


Rallying  Round  the  Flag.  133 

came  driving  furiously  into  the  village  to  see  what 
was  the  matter. 

Mr.  Tooter  and  Mr.  Noggin,  with  Mr.  Chrome, 
who  had  a  new  flag,  walked  out  upon  the  parade- 
ground.  The  musicians  struck  up  Yankee-Doodle. 
How  it  stirred  the  hearts  of  everybody,  —  the  sharp, 
shrill  notes  of  the  fife,  —  the  roll,  the  rattle,  and  the 
rat-a-tat-tat  of  the  drum,  and  the  clanging  of  the  bell, 
and  the  sight  of  that  flag,  its  crimson  folds  and  fade- 
less stars  waving  in  the  evening  breeze  !  Never  had 
it  looked  so  beautiful.  The  little  boys  swung  their 
caps  and  cheered,  the  women  waved  their  handker- 
chiefs, and  the  men  hurrahed  in  an  outburst  of  wild 
enthusiasm.  Then  they  formed  in  procession  with 
Colonel  Dare  for  marshal,  —  the  music  and  the 
flag  in  advance,  Rev.  Mr.  Surplice,  Judge  Adams, 
and  Squire  Capias  next,  and  then  all  the  citizens, 
marching  round  the  public  square  to  the  church, 
filling  the  house,  the  pews,  the  aisles,  the  entry, 
and  hanging  like  a  swarm  of  bees  around  the  win- 
dows. 

Judge  Adams  forgot  all  his  despondency,  while 
Mr.  Surplice,  who  was  getting  &  little  prosy  as  a 
preacher,  was  as  full  of  fire  as  in  his  younger  days 


134  Winning  his   Way. 

Mr.  Capias  was  so  eloquent  that  the  people  s'amped 
till  the  house  fairly  shook  with  applause.  He  ended 
with  resolutions,  pledging  the  support  of  the  people 
of  New  Hope  to  the  government,  —  their  lives,  their 
fortunes,  and  their  sacred  honor  towards  suppressing 
the  Rebellion.  But  more  thrilling  than  all  the  elo- 
quence of  the  evening  was  the  singing  of  the  Star- 
Spangled  Banner,  by  Azalia,  Daphne,  Paul,  and 
Hans.  They  stood  on  the  platform  in  front  of 
the  pulpit,  Azalia  and  Daphne  with  flags  in  their 
hands.  How  sweet  their  voices  !  How  inspiring 
the  moment  when  they  sang : 

"  And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ! " 
Men  threw  up  their  hats,  women  waved  their  hand- 
kerchiefs, and  all  cheered  and  shouted,  while  many 
shed  tears,  as  they  looked  upon  the  banner  of  their 
country,  which  had  been  so  insulted  and  despised. 
There,  in  the  place  where  they  met  on  the  Sabbath 
to  worship  God,  they  resolved  that,  let  it  cost  what 
it  might  of  money,  of  sacrifice,  or  of  life,  the  old 
flag  should  once  more  wave  ?n  triumph  upon  the 
walls  of  Fort  Sumter,  —  that  the  Rebellion  should 
be  subdued  and  the  traitors  punished. 


Rallying  Round  tJte  Flag.  135 

That  was  an  ever  memorable  night  to  Paul. 
Alone  in  his  chamber,  lying  on  his  bed,  whence 
he  could  look  out,  as  in  childhood,  upon  the  stars, 
he  thought  upon  what  had  happened  at  Fort  Sum- 
ter,  and  of  the  meeting  in  the  church  at  New  Hope, 
and  how  he  had  pledged  himself  with  the  rest  to 
stand  by  the  flag  of  his  country.  The  water  by 
the  mill  was  repeating  the  soul-stirring  song,  which 
'Azalia,  Daphne,  Hans,  and  himself  had  sung.  The 
maples,  elms,  and  all  the  forest-trees,  like  a  multitu- 
dinous chorus  of  a  great  and  mighty  people,  were 
saying,  "  It  shall  wave  —  shall  wave  —  over  the 
home  of  the  brave  !  " 

But  men  were  wanted.  The  President  had  called 
for  them.  Ought  he  not  to  be  one  of  the  seventy- 
five  thousand?  Would  not  his  grandfather,  if  alive, 
point  to  the  old  gun,  and  say,  "Go,  Paul,  youi 
country  calls  you?"  Were  not  all  who  have  died 
for  liberty,  justice,  truth,  and  right  calling  upon  him 
to  do  his  duty?  Were  not  the  oppressed  every- 
where looking  to  him?  What  answer  could  he  give 
to  the  millions  yet  to  be,  if  in  his  old  age  they 
were  to  question  him  as  to  what  part  he  bore  in 
the  great  struggle?  Thus  the  voices  of  the  ages 


136  Winning  his   Way. 

propounded  solemn  questions  —  voices  of  earth  and 
heaven  —  of  his  duty  to  his  country  and  to  God. 
But  how  could  he  leave  his  home,  his  mother,  his 
friends,  his  school,  the  choir,  Azalia,  Daphne,  Hans, 
and  give  up  the  dear  associations  of  the  place? 
What  if  he  should  fall  in  battle?  Could  he  meet 
death  face  to  face?  But  then  he  remembered  that 
the  path  of  duty,  though  it  may  lead  through  dan- 
gers, though  it  may  lead  to  the  death  of  the  body, 
is  the  way  by  which  peace  comes  to  the  soul.  It 
was  the  most  solemn  moment  of  his  life,  for  God 
was  questioning  him.  He  heard  not  only  the  voices 
of  the  past,  and  of  the  winds,  the  water,  and  of 
his  country,  calling  him  to  do  his  duty  as  a  patriot, 
but  there  was  a  still,  small  voice  talking  of  sins 
committed  and  duties  neglected;  of  a  lie  which  he 
had  told  in  childhood,  and  which  had  burned  through 
all  the  years  like  a  red-hot  iron,  leaving  a  crisped 
and  blackened  scar  upon  his  soul.  How  could  he 
be  at  peace?  How  ease  the  pain?  Tears  of  an- 
guish rolled  down  his  cheeks.  He  turned  and  tossed 
in  agony,  wishing  that  the  scar  could  be  cut  away, 
and  that  he  could  be  made  fit  to  dwell  with  the 
angels.  But  in  his  agony  he  heard  another  voice 


Rallying  Round  the  Flag,  137 

saying,  "  Come  unto  me,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest." 

They  were  no  longer  tears  of  sorrow  which  wet 
his  pillow,  but  of  joy,  for  he  saw  that  Jesus,  having 
carried  the  cross  up  to  Calvary,  was  able  and  willing 
also  to  bear  his  burden.  What  a  friend,  —  to  take 
away  all  his  sin,  and  leave  no  scar,  no  pain,  no  sor- 
row !  He  would  serve  such  a  friend  with  his  whole 
soul.  He  would  do  his  duty,  whatever  it  might  be. 
For  such  a  friend,  he  could  go  through  all  dangers 
and  win  his  way.  to  victory.  For  him  he  would 
live,  and  for  him  he  would  die,  if  need  be,  to  save 
his  country. 

"  Go,  my  son,  —  your  country  calls  you,  and  God 
will  take  care  of  you,"  said  his  mother  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  he  told  her  that  he  thought  it  his  duty 
to  enlist. 

"I  have  decided  to  be  a  volunteer,  and  shall 
spend  a  half-hour  with  the  school  and  then  dismiss 
it,  and  this  will  be  my  last  day  as  a  teacher,"  said 
Paul  to  the  school  committee,  as  he  went  for  the 
last  time  to  the  school-house.  It  was  hard  to  part 
with  those  who  were  dear  to  him.  He  had  been 
so  kind  and  gentle,  and  yet  so  firm  and  just,  that 
all  the  scholars  loved  him. 


138  Winning  his   Way. 

"You  may  lay  aside  your  books,  I  have  not  time 
to  hear  your  lessons,"  —  he  said,  and  then  talked 
of  what  had  happened,  —  said  that  the  flag  had 
been  insulted,  that  justice,  law,  religious  liberty, 
truth,  and  right  had  been  overthrown,  and  that,  un- 
less the  Rebellion  was  put  down,  they  would  have 
no  country,  no  home,  —  that  God  and  his  country 
called  him,  and  he  must  go.  The  issues  at  stake 
were  not  only  worth  living  for,  but  they  were  worth 
dying  for,  if  they  could  be  secured  in  no  other  way. 
It  was  a  duty  to  fight  for  them.  How  hard  it  was 
to  say  "Good  by!"  They  would  meet  again,  but 
perhaps  not  in  this  world.  His  voice  trembled ; 
there  was  weeping  around  the  room.  When  he  dis- 
missed them,  they  had  no  heart  to  play ;  they  could 
only  think  how  good  and  kind  he  was,  and  how 
great  their  loss ;  and  in  imagination,  looking  into 
the  gloomy  future,  beheld  him  in  the  thickest  of 
the  fight  upon  the  battle-field. 

The  whole  country  was  aflame  with  patriotism. 
The  drum-beat  was  heard  not  only  in  New  Hope, 
but  in  every  city  and  village  of  the  land.  There 
was  a  flag  on  almost  every  house.  Farmers  left 
their  ploughs  in  the  unfinished  furrows;  the  fire  of 


Rallying  Round  the  Flag. 

the  blacksmith's  forge  went  out;  carpenters  laid 
down  their  planes;  lawyers  put  aside  their  cases 
in  the  courts,  —  all  to  become  citizen  soldiers  and 
aid  in  saving  the  country,  —  assembling  in  squads, 
companies,  and  regiments  at  the  county-seats. 

He  called  upon  Rev.  Mr.  Surplice.  "The  Lord 
be  with  you,  to  guide,  protect,  and  bless  you,"  said 
the  good  man  as  he  bade  Paul  farewell.  It  was  a 
blessing  and  a  benediction  which  followed  Paul  all 
the  day,  which  comforted  and  strengthened  him, 
when  he  reflected  that  he  might  be  bidding  a  last 
farewell  to  his  friends. 

He  was  surprised  to  find  that  everybody  was  his 
friend ;  that  all  bade  him  God  speed,  —  all,  except 
Mr.  Funk  and  Philip.  It  was  evening  when  he 
called  upon  Azalia.  He  had  shaken  hands  with 
Daphne  and  Hans,  and  others  of  his  associates. 
The  train  would  bear  him  away  in  the  morning. 
Azalia  came  tripping  down  the  path,  holding  out 
both  hands  to  meet  him  at  the  gate.  She  greeted 
him  with  a  sad  smile.  "You  are  not  going  away 
to  the  war,  are  you?"  she  asked  with  faltering 
voice. 

"Yes,  Azalia,  and  I  have  come  to  bid  you  good 
by!" 


140  Winning  his   Way. 

"  Do  you  think  it  your  duty  to  go  and  leave  your 
mother  ?  It  will  be  hard  for  her  to  give  you  up ; 
she  will  miss  you  very  much,  and  we  shall  all  miss 
you." 

"  I  know  that  the  old  house  will  be  lonesome,  — 
that  the  days  will  be  long  and  the  nights  dreary 
to  my  mother,  —  that  she  will  listen  to  every  ap- 
proaching footstep  and  think  perhaps  it  is  mine.  I 
know,  Azalia,  that  possibly  I  may  never  return;  I 
feel  that  perhaps  this  is  the  last  time  I  may  ever 
take  you  by  the  hand;  but  I  feel  that  God  and 
my  country  both  are  calling  me,  and  that  I  must 
go." 

"But  what  if  you  are  killed  on  the  battle-field  I 
O  Paul,  it  is  dreadful  to  think  ofl" 

"  I  would  rather  die  there  while  doing  what  I  feel 
to  be  my  duty,  than  remain  here  shirking  responsi- 
bility. Last  night  I  heard  the  voices  of  the  past 
calling  me,  and  I  seemed  to  see  the  myriads  who 
are  to  come  after  us  beckoning  me.  I  know  it  is 
my  duty  to  go.  You  would  not  have  me  falter,  would 
you,  Azalia?" 

She  eould  not  reply.  Her  voice  choked  with  emo- 
tion; she  had  not  expected  such  a  question.  Tears 


Rallying  Round  the  Flag.  141 

came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  turned  away  to  hide 
them, 

"I  could  not  go  without  coming  to  see  you,  to 
thank  you  for  all  your  kindness  to  me ;  you  have  been 
always  a  faithful  and  true  friend.  God  bless  you 
for  all  you  have  done  for  me  1  I  know  your  goodness 
of  heart,  and  I  hope  that,  when  .1  am  gone,  you  will 
sometimes  go  in  and  comfort  my  mother,  and  shorten 
the  hours  for  her ;  for  your  smile  is  always  like  the 
sunshine,  and  it  will  cheer  her." 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  make  her  forget  that  you 
are  gone." 

"And  you  will  not  wholly  forget  me." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  you,"  she  replied  ;  then,  look- 
ing steadily  upon  him,  with  a  strong  effort  to  keep 
down  her  emotion,  said,  "  Paul,  I  have  heard  that 
there  are  many  dangers  in  camp ;  that  soldiers  some- 
times forget  home  and  old  friends,  and  become  cal- 
lous and  hardened  to  good  influences ;  that  they 
lose  sight  of  heaven  and  things  holy  and  pure  amid 
the  new  duties  and  strange  excitements.  But  for  the 
sake  of  those  who  respect  and  honor  and  love  you, 
you  will  not  give  way  to  vice,  will  you  ?  I  know  you 
will  not,  for  my  sake." 


142  Winning1  his   Way. 

"  For  your  sake,  Azalia,  if  for  no  other  reason,  I 
will  resist  evil,  and  I  will  try  to  serve  God  and  my 
country  faithfully  in  all  things,  so  that  if  I  come  back, 
or  if  I  fall  in  battle,  you  will  not  be  ashamed  of 
having  once  been  my  friend." 

She  touched  her  sweet  lips  to  his  forehead,  say- 
ing, "I  have  nothing  else  to  give  you  for  such  a 
promise.  Remember  that  it  came  from  your  old 
friend,  Azalia." 

His  heart  was  full.  He  had  braved  himself  to  say 
farewell  to  all  his  friends  without  shedding  a  tear, 
but  his  courage  was  faltering.  How  could  he  go, 
perhaps  never  to  return !  He  wanted  to  say  more. 
He  wanted  to  sit  down  at  her  feet  and  worship  such 
goodness;  but  he  could  only  dash  away  the  tears, 
look  for  a  moment  into  her  eyes,  drink  in  the  sad 
smile  upon  her  face,  leave  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek, 
press  her  a  moment  to  his  heart,  and  say,  "  God  bless 
you,  Azalia!" 

He  turned  hastily  away,  and  passed  through  the 
gate.  He  cast  one  glance  behind,  and  beheld  her 
standing  in  the  gravelled  walk,  her  chestnut  haii 
falling  upon  her  shoulders,  and  the  setting  sun  throw- 
ing around  her  its  golden  light.  She  waved  him  aR 


Rallying  Round  the  Flag.  143 

adieu,  and  he  passed  on,  thinking  of  her  as  his  good 
angel.  When  far  away,  pacing  his  lonely  beat  at 
dead  of  night,  he  would  think  of  her  and  behold 
her  as  in  that  parting  hour. 


£44  Winning  his  Way. 


CHAPTER   X, 

A    SOLDIER. 

HE  was  a  soldier  in  camp,  wearing  a  blue  uni- 
form, sleeping  in  a  tent,  wrapped  in  a  blanket, 
with  a  knapsack  for  a  pillow.  He  had  voluntarily 
given  up  the  freedom  of  home,  and  was  ready  to 
yield  obedience  to  military  rule.  He  could  not 
pass  the  guard  without  a  permit.  When  the  drum 
beat,  he  must  spring  to  his  feet.  He  was  obliged 
to  wear  a  knapsack,  a  cartridge-box,  a  canteen,  and 
a  bayonet  scabbard,  and  carry  a  gun,  not  always  as 
he  would  like  to  carry  it,  but  as  ordered  by  the  officer 
in  command.  He  was  obliged  to  march  hour  after 
hour,  and  if  he  came  to  a  brook  or  a  muddy  place, 
instead  of  turning  aside  and  passing  over  on  stepping- 
stones  or  upon  a  fallen  tree,  he  must  go  through  with- 
out breaking  the  ranks.  His  companions  were  not 
altogether  such  as  he  liked  to  associate  with.  Some 
were  very  profane,  and  used  indecent  language. 
There  was  one  great,  over-grown  Dutchman,  Gott- 
lieb von  Dunk,  who  smoked  nearly  all  the  time  when 


A  Soldier.  145 

awake,  and  who  snored  terribly  when  asleep.  But 
he  was  a  good-hearted  fellow  for  all  that,  and  had 
a  great  many  pleasant  stories  to  tell. 

It  was  inspiring  to  hear  the  drum  and  fife,  the  blast 
of  the  bugle,  and  the  playing  of  the  band.  It  was 
glorious  to  look  upon  the  star-spangled  banner,  wav- 
ing in  the  breeze;  but  the  excitement  soon  wore 
away.  There  were  rainy  days,  comfortless  and  cheer- 
less. Sometimes  the  rations  were  not  fit  to  be  eaten, 
and  there  was  grumbling  in  the  camp.  There  were 
days  of  homesickness,  when  the  soldiers  longed  to 
break  away  from  the  restraints  of  camp  life,  and  be 
free  once  more. 

The  regiment  in  which  Paul  enlisted  was  ordered 
to  Cairo,  in  Illinois,  where  it  joined  several  others. 
When  the  men  were  enlisted,  they  expected  to  march 
at  once  upon  the  Rebels,  but  week  after  week  passed 
by,  spring  became  summer,  and  summer  lengthened 
into  autumn,  and  there  was  no  movement  of  the 
troops.  The  ardor  of  their  patriotism  died  out.  It 
was  a  monotonous  life,  waking  early  in  the  morning 
to  answer  roll-call,  to  eat  breakfast  of  salt  pork  a:*d 
hard-tack,  drilling  by  squads,  by  companies,  by  bat- 
talion, marching  and  countermarching,  going  through 
7  1 


146  Winning'  his  Way. 

the  same  manoeuvres  every  day,  shouldering,  order- 
ing, and  presenting  arms,  making  believe  load  and 
fire,  standing  on  guard,  putting  out  their  lights  at  nine 
o'clock  at  night,  —  doing  all  this,  week  after  week, 
with  the  Rebels  at  Columbus,  only  twenty  miles  down 
the  river.  It  was  very  irksome.  Sometimes  Paul's 
heart  went  back  to  New  Hope,  as  the  dear  old  times 
came  crowding  upon  him ;  but  he  had  learned  to  be 
patient.  He  knew  that  it  was  necessary  for  soldiers 
to  become  disciplined.  He  had  enlisted  for  the  war, 
he  gave  his  whole  attention  to  doing  his  duty,  and 
received  his  reward  by  being  made  a  sergeant.  He 
kept  his  gun  clean,  his  equipments  in  good  order, 
and  he  was  always  in  his  place:  So  prompt  was  he, 
that  his  commander  nicknamed  him  Sergeant  Ready. 
He  was  as  ready  to  play  a  game  of  football,  or  to  run 
a  race,  as  he  was  to  appear  in  the  ranks  at  drill. 
When  off  duty,  instead  of  idling  away  his  time,  he 
was  studying  the  tactics,  learning  not  only  his  duty 
as  a  sergeant,  but  what  it  would  be  if  he  were  a  lieu- 
tenant or  a  captain. 

The  camp  of  his  regiment  was  near  the  town,  on 
the  bank  of  the  Mississippi,  where  he  saw  the  great 
steamboats  pass  down  the  Mississippi  from  St.  Louis, 


A  Soldier.  147 

and  down  the  Ohio  from  Louisville  and  Cincinnati, 
with  thousands  of  troops  on  board,  with  the  flags 
and  banners  streaming,  the  bands  playing,  and  the 
soldiers  cheering.  It  was  pleasant  to  stand  upon 
the  levee,  and  behold  the  stirring  scenes,  —  the  gun- 
boats commanded  by  the  brave  and  good  Admiral 
Foote,  the  great  eleven-inch  guns  peeping  from  the 
portholes,  —  but  Paul  longed  for  active  life.  He  re- 
joiced when  he  heard  that  his  regiment  was  ordered 
to  leave  the  Ohio  River  and  go  down  toward  Col- 
lumbus  on  a  reconnoitring  expedition.  The  soldiers 
were  so  happy  that  they  threw  up  their  caps  and 
gave  a  loud  hurrah. 

With  their  haversacks  full  of  hard-tack  and  cold 
boiled  beef,  carrying  their  tin  cups  and  plates,  their 
cartridge-boxes  full  of  cartridges,  they  embarked  on 
one  of  the  great  steamboats,  and  floated  down  the 
river.  They  were  exhilarated  with  the  thought  that 
they  were  to  have  new  and  untried  experiences, — 
that  perhaps  there  would  be  a  battle.  They  paced 
the  deck  of  the  steamboat  nervously,  and  looked 
carefully  into  the  woods  along  the  rivei-bank  to  see 
if  there  were  any  Rebel  scouts  lurking  behind  the 
trees. 


148  Winning  his   Way. 

Six  miles  below  Cairo  is  a  place  called  Old  Fort 
Jefferson,  where  many  years  ago  the  white  settlers 
built  a  fort,  and  where  they  had  a  battle  with  the 
Indians.  The  Essex  gunboat,  Captain  Porter,  was 
lying  there,  swinging  at  her  anchors  in  the  stream. 
A  sailor  paced  the  deck  in  a  short  blue  jacket,  who 
had  a  spy- glass  in  his  hand,  and  kept  a  sharp  look- 
out down  the  river,  for  there  were  two  Rebel  gun- 
boats below  in  the  bend. 

The  regiment  landed  on  the  Kentucky  side,  where 
a  narrow  creek  comes  down  from  the  hills  through 
a  wild  ravine.  Suddenly  there  was  a  cry  of  "  There 
they  come  !  the  Rebel  gunboats."  Paul  looked  down 
the  river,  and  saw  two  dark-colored  boats. 

"  Heave  anchor !  Put  on  steam.  Light  up  the 
magazines.  Pipe  all  hand  to  quarters !  Lively ! " 
were  the  orders  on  board  the  Essex. 

The  boatswain  blew  his  whistle,  the  drummer  beat 
the  long  roll,  and  the  sailors,  who  had  been  dozing 
about  the  decks,  were  instantly  astir,  weighing  the 
anchors,  running  out  the  great  guns,  bringing  up  shot 
and  shell  from  the  hold,  and  clearing  the  deck  for 
action.  The  great  wheels  turned,  and  the  Essex 
swung  out  into  the  stream,  and  prepared  to  meet 


A  Soldier.  149 

her  antagonists.  What  an  exciting  moment!  Paul 
felt  the  blood  rush  through  his  veins  as  he  never 
felt  it  before.  One  of  the  approaching  gunboats  was 
suddenly  enveloped  in  white  smoke.  He  heard  a 
screaming  in  the  air,  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
growing  louder  and  louder  and  more  terrifying.  He 
felt  a  cold  chill  creep  over  him.  He  held  his  breath. 
He  was  in  doubt  whether  it  would  be  better  to  get 
behind  a  tree,  or  lie  down,  or  take  to  his  heels.  He 
could  see  nothing  in  the  air,  but  he  knew  that  a  shot 
was  coming.  Perhaps  it  might  hit  him.  He  thought 
of  home,  his  mother,  Azalia,  and  all  the  old  friends. 
He  lived  years  in  a  second.  "  I  won't  run,"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  the  iron  bolt  came  on.  Crash !  it  went 
through  a  great  oak-tree,  shivering  it  to  splinters, 
and  flying  on  into  the  woods,  cutting  off  branches, 
and  falling  to  the  ground  at  last  with  a  heavy  thug ! 
ploughing  a  deep  furrow  and  burying  itself  out  of 
sight.  There  was  a  roar  of  thunder  rolling  along  the 
river-banks,  echoing  from  woodland  to  woodland. 
Then  the  heavy  eleven-inch  gun  of  the  Essex  jumped 
up  from  the  deck,  took  a  leap  backwards,  almost 
jerking  the  great  iron  ringbolts  from  the  sides  of  the 
ship,  coming  down  with  a  jar  which  made  her  quiver 


150  Winning  his   Way. 

from  stem  to  stern,  sending  a  shell,  smoking  and 
hissing,  down  stream,  towards  the  Rebel  gunboat, 
and  striking  it  amidships,  throwing  the  planks  into 
the  water.  "  Hurrah  !  Hurrah !  "  shouted  the  crew 
of  the  Essex.  "  Hurrah !  Hurrah  !  "  answered  the 
soldiers  on  shore,  dancing  about  and  cheering  An- 
other shot  came  screeching  towards  them  as  loud 
as  the  first ;  but  it  was  not  half  so  terrifying.  Paul 
thought  it  was  not  worth  while  to  be  frightened  till  he 
was  hurt,  and  so  he  stood  his  ground,  and  watched 
the  firing  till  the  Rebel  gunboats  turned  towards 
Columbus  and  disappeared  behind  the  distant  head- 
land, followed  by  Captain  Porter,  who  kept  his  great 
guns  booming  till  he  was  almost  within  range  of  the 
Rebel  batteries  at  Columbus.  He  was  a  brave  man, 
short  and  stout,  with  a  heavy  beard.  His  father  com- 
manded the  United  States  ship  Essex  in  1812,  and 
had  a  long,  hard  fight  with  two  British  ships  in  the 
harbor  of  Valparaiso,  fighting  against  great  odds,  till 
his  decks  were  slippery  with  blood,  till  nearly  all 
of  his  guns  were  dismounted,  when  he  was  obliged 
to  surrender. 

"  The  son  is  a  chip  of  the  old  block,"  said  Admiral 
Foole  the  next  day  to  Captain  Porter,  commending 


A  Soldier.  151 

his  watchfulness  and  promptness  to  meet  the  enemy. 
Paul  saw  how  necessary  it  was  in  military  operations 
to  be  always  on  the  watch,  and  he  felt  that  it  was 
also  necessary  to  be  calm  and  self-possessed  when 
on  the  battle-field. 

The  regiment  took  up  its  line  of  march,  for  a  re- 
connoissance  towards  Columbus,  along  a  winding 
path  through  the  woods,  passing  log  farm-houses, 
crossing  creeks  on  log  bridges.  Paul  noticed  all 
the  windings  of  the  road,  the  hills,  houses,  and  other 
objects,  keeping  count  of  his  steps  from  one  place 
to  another,  jotting  it  down  on  a  slip  of  paper  when 
the  regiment  came  to  a  halt.  They  could  not  kindle 
a  fire,  for  they  were  in  the  enemy's  country,  and 
each  man  ate  his  supper  of  hard-tack  and  cold  beef, 
and  washed  it  down  with  water  from  the  creek. 

Paul  was  sitting  on  a  log  eating  his  supper,  and 
looking  about  for  a  place  to  spread  his  blanket  for 
the  night,  when  the  Colonel  of  the  regiment  came 
to  him  and  said  :  "  Sergeant  Parker,  it  is  very  im- 
portant that  a  reconnoissance  be  made  to-night  to- 
wards the  enemy's  lines.  I  near  that  you  are  a  good, 
faithful,  and  trustworthy  soldier.  Are  you  willing  to 
take  it?" 


152  Winning  his  Way. 

"I  have  no  desire  to  shirk  any  responsibility.  If 
you  wish  me  to  go,  I  am  ready,"  said  Paul. 

"  Very  well ;  gain  all  the  information  you  can,  and 
report  at  daybreak,"  said  the  Colonel. 

He  went  out  alone  in  the  darkness,  past  the 
pickets.  And  now  that  he  was  alone,  and  moving 
towards  the  enemy,  he  felt  that  he  was  engaged 
in  a  hazardous  undertaking.  He  walked  softly, 
crouching  down,  listening  to  every  sound ;  —  on 
through  deep  and  gloomy  ravines,  through  the  dense 
forests,  past  farm-houses,  where  dogs  were  howling,  — 
noticing  all  the  objects,  and  picturing  them  in 
memory. 

"  Halt !  Who  comes  there  ? "  shouted  a  voice. 
He  heard  the  click  of  a  gun-lock.  It  was  a  very 
dark  night  ;  stooping  close  to  the  ground,  he  could 
see  an  object  by  the  roadside,  immediately  before 
him.  He  held  his  breath.  What  should  he  do? 
"  Keep  cool,"  said  a  monitor  within.  His  heart 
had  leaped  into  his  throat,  but  it  went  back  to  its 
proper  place.  "Who  comes  there?"  said  the  sen- 
tinel again. 

Instead  of  answering,  he  moved  backward  so 
softly  and  noiselessly  that  he  could  not  hear  his 
own  footsteps. 


A  Soldier.  153 

*{  What  is  the  row  ? "  he  heard  a  Rebel  officer 
ask  of  the  sentinel. 

"There  is  a  Yankee  prowling  about,  I  reckon," 
said  the  sentinel  in  a  whisper,  and  added,  "  There 
he  is." 

"  Shoot  him ! "  said  the  officer. 

There  was  a  flash  which  blinded  Paul.  He  heard 
the  Minie  bullet  sing  above  him.  He  could  see 
the  dark  forms  of  the  two  men.  He  had  a  revolver 
in  his  hand,  and  could  have  shot  them,  but  he  was 
there  to  gain  information,  and  not  to  bring  on  a 
fight. 

"  It  is  nothing  but  a  stump,  after  all,"  said  the 
officer. 

The  report  of  the  gun  re-echoed  far  and  near. 
The  night  was  still,  and  he  could  hear  other  pick- 
ets talking  out  in  the  field  on  his  right  hand  and 
on  his  left.  How  fortunate  1  He  knew  where  they 
were,  *and  now  could  avoid  them.  But  ought  he 
not  to  turn  back  ?  He  resolved  not  to  be  frightened 
from  his  object.  After  lying  still  awhile,  he  went 
back  along  the  road,  then  turned  aside,  walked  softly 
from  tree  to  tree,  careful  not  to  crackle  a  twig  be 
neath  his  feet,  crept  on  his  hands  and  knees  through 
7* 


154  Winning  his  Way. 

the  thick  underbrush,  and  gained  the  road  in  the 
rear  of  the  picket.  Being  inside  of  the  enemy's 
lines,  he  knew  that  he  could  move  more  freely, 
for  if  any  of  the  sentinels  heard  him  they  would 
think  it  one  of  their  own  number.  He  walked  on, 
but  suddenly  found  himself  standing  face  to  face 
with  a  dozen  soldiers. 

"  Well,  Jim,  are  there  any  Yankees  down  there  ? " 
one  asked. 

"The  sentinel  thought  he  saw  a  Yankee,  but  I 
reckon  he  fired  at  a  stump,"  said  Paul,  passing 
boldly  by  them  to  their  rear. 

He  now  saw  that  he  was  in  a  Rebel  camp.  There 
were  smouldering  fires,  tents,  a  cannon,  baggage- 
wagons,  and  horses  which  were  munching  their  grain. 
What  should  he  do  ?  He  felt  that  he  was  in  a 
critical  situation.  If  taken,  he  would  be  hung  as 
a  spy.  He  stood  still  and  reflected  a  moment,  to 
calm  his  nerves.  He  had  blundered  in,  perhaps 
he  might  get  out.  He  would  try;  but  as  he  was 
there,  ought  he  not  to  improve  the  opportunity  to 
find  out  all  about  the  camp,  how  large  it  was,  how 
many  men  there  were  ?  He  counted  the  baggage- 
wagons  and  the  tents.  He  almost  stumbled  over 


A  Soldier.  155 

a  man  who  was  wrapped  in  his  blanket.  It  was 
an  officer  sound  asleep,  with  his  sword  by  his  side. 
He  was  sleeping  so  deeply  that  Paul  ventured  to  take 
the  sword,  for  he  thought,  unless  he  carried  something 
back  as  evidence,  his  report  would  not  be  believed. 
And  then  he  crept  back  past  the  grand  guard,  and 
past  the  sentinels,  sometimes  crawling  an  inch  at 
a  time,  then  stepping  as  noiselessly  as  a  cat  in  search 
of  her  prey,  till  he  was  past  them  all.  He  was  sur- 
prised to  find  how  cool  and  self-possessed  he  was, 
how  clear  his  brain,  and  how  wide  awake  were  all 
his  faculties.  He  was  as  light-hearted  as  a  bird  in 
spring-time,  for  even  in  the  darkness,  while  he  was 
dimly  discerning  what  was  around  him,  he  saw  Azalia, 
as  he  last  beheld  her  in  the  gravelled  walk  before 
her  home,  waving  him  on  !  At  daybreak  he  reached 
the  lines  once  more.  The  Colonel  heard  his  story, 
and  was  in  doubt  about  its  truth  ;  but  when  he  saw 
how  accurate  a  map  Paul  drew,  and  that  the  sword 
was  marked  C.  S.  A.,  for  the  Confederate  States  of 
America, — when  he  saw  how  modest  and  straight- 
forward Paul  was  in  all  that  he  did,  —  he  said,  "  Ser- 
geant Parker,  I  shall  inform  General  Grant  that  you 
have  done  your  duty  faithfully." 


156  Winning  his   Way. 

CHAPTER   XI. 

SCOUTING. 

"QERGEANT   PARKER  is  hereby  ordered   to 

^  report  immediately  at  General  Grant's  Head- 
quarters," was  the  order  which  Paul  received  the  next 
morning.  He  wondered  what  General  Grant  could 
want  of  him.  He  entered  the  General's  tent,  and 
saw  a  short,  thick-set,  middle-aged  man  with  sandy 
whiskers,  sitting  at  a  table,  reading  letters  and  smok 
ing  a  cigar.  He  was  dressed  in  a  plain  blue  blouse, 
and  as  he  had  no  straps  on  his  shoulders,  Paul 
thought  he  was  the  General's  orderly. 

"Is  General  Grant  about?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  looking  up  pleasantly. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  said  Paul. 

"I  am  General  Grant." 

Paul  was  astonished  to  find  a  general  so  affable 
and  pleasant,  for  he  had  seen  some  lieutenants  and 
captains  strut  like  turkey-cocks,  because  they  wore 
straps  on  their  shoulders.  Paul  saluted  the  General, 
and  said,  "I  am  ordered  to  report  to  you,  sir." 


Scouting.  157 

"  O  yes ;  you  are  Sergeant  Parker,  who  made  a 
reconnoissance  last  night ;  sit  down,  Sergeant,  till  I 
finish  my  letters."  It  was  spoken  so  pleasantly  and 
kindly,  that  Paul  said  to  himself,  "  He  is  a  gentle- 
man." 

When  the  General  had  finished  his  letters  he 
lighted  another  cigar,  and  questioned  Paul  about  his 
adventures ;  how  far  it  was  to  the  Rebel  camp,  and 
how  the  camp  was  situated. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  sketch  of  the  place,"  said  Paul ; 
and,  sitting  up  to  the  table,  he  drew  a  map,  putting 
down  the  creeks,  the  roads,  the  woods,  the  distances 
from  point  to  point,  the  place  where  he  came  upon 
the  pickets,  the  position  of  the  tents,  and  all  the 
objects  he  saw.  The  General  sat  in  silence,  smoking, 
and  looking  at  Paul  with  a  keen  eye.  It  was  drawn 
neatly  and  quickly,  and  with  an  accuracy  which  sur- 
prised the  General.  Paul  had  kept  count  of  his 
steps  from  one  object  to  another.  By  looking  up 
to  the  stars  he  had  kept  the  points  of  the  compass, 
and  knew  whether  he  travelled  south,  or  southeast,  or 
southwest,  and  so  he  was  able  to  draw  an  excellent 
map. 

"  Where  did  you  study  topographical  engineering  ?  * 
the  General  asked. 


1 58  Winning  his   Way. 

"By  the  kitchen  fire,"  Paul  replied. 

'*  A  good  college  to  graduate  from,  especially  if  a 
fellow  has  grit,"  said  the  General,  smiling.  "Are 
you  willing  to  undertake  a  hazardous  enterprise?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  am  willing  to  undertake  anything  for  my 
country,"  Paul  replied. 

The  General  then  told  him  that  he  wished  to  ob- 
tain information  about  Fort  Henry  on  the  Tennessee 
River,  and  Fort  Donelson  on  the  Cumberland.  He 
showed  him  the  positions  on  a  map,  and  said  it  was 
an  undertaking  of  great  importance,  and  which  might 
cost  him  his  life.  "I  will  give  you  a  trustworthy 
companion,"  said  he. 

"  I  would  rather  attempt  it  alone,  if  you  please. 
Two  is  one  too  many  3  it  doubles  our  risk.  If  dis- 
covered by  the  Rebels,  I  could  n't  help  my  comrade, 
neither  could  he  help  me.  If  we  keep  together,  we 
shall  have  the  same  information.  I  think  I  shall 
succeed  better  alone,"  said  Paul. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  General,  who  told  him 
that  he  might  prepare  for  the  trip,  and  that  he  would 
be  sent  up  the  Tennessee  River  on  a  gunboat,  and 
put  on  shore  a  few  miles  from  Fort  Henry,  and  that 


Scouting.  1 59 

he  must  return  in  ten  days.  "  I  hear  a  good  report 
of  you,  and  have  confidence  in  you.  I  desire  accu- 
rate information  ;  for  if  it  is  not  accurate,  it  may  lead 
to  very  disastrous  results,"  said  the  General. 

Two  nights  later,  Paul  stood  alone  on  the  bank 
of  the  Tennessee.  The  gunboat  which  had  brought 
him  was  going  back.  He  could  hear  the  plashing 
of  her  wheels  growing  fainter  each  moment  He 
was  in  the  enemy's  country,  on  an  undertaking  which 
might  cost  him  his  life.  If  discovered,  he  would  be 
hung.  For  an  instant  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he 
felt  that  he  must  turn  back ;  then  he  remembered 
that  he  had  enlisted  in  the  service  of  his  country, 
to  do  his  duty,  whatever  it  might  be.  His  duty  was 
before  him.  He  was  upon  the  ground.  Would  not 
God  take  care  of  him  ?  Was  not  the  path  of  duty, 
although  it  might  lead  to  death,  the  only  path  of 
safety?  There  are  times  when  duty  is  worth  more 
than  life.  "Whatever  is  right  before  the  Eternal 
God,  that  I  will  do,"  said  Paul  to  himself.  His  fear 
was  gone.  He  resolved  to  be  bold,  yet  cautious, 
and  to  keep  his  thoughts  perfectly  collected  under 
all  circumstances.  He  had  succeeded  in  one  recon- 
noissance,  which  made  him  hopeful ;  but  he  reflected 


i6o  Winning  his  Way. 

that  success  often  makes  men  careless,  so  he  re- 
solved  to  be  always  on  his  guard.  He  had  changed 
his  uniform  for  a  pair  of  old  butternut-colored  pan- 
taloons, a  ragged  coat,  and  a  slouched  hat  which  had 
a  hole  in  the  crown.  He  hardly  recognized  himself 
he  was  so  altered  in  appearance.  He  wondered  if 
Azalia  or  Daphne  would  know  him.  He  had  no 
weapon  or  equipments.  There  was  nothing  about 
him  which  indicated  that  he  was  a  soldier  of  the 
Union  army  ready  to  lay  down  his  life  for  the  old 
flag. 

He  walked  cautiously  along  the  winding  path,  no- 
ticing all  the  objects ;  looking  up  to  the  north  star 
at  every  turn  of  the  road,  keeping  tally  of  his  steps 
that  he  might  know  the  distance  travelled  He 
walked  stealthily,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear 
the  challenge  of  the  Rebel  pickets.  He  was  startled 
by  the  cry,  "Who!  Who!  Who!"  He  came  to  a 
sudden  halt,  and  then  laughed  to  think  that  he  had 
been  challenged  by  an  owl. 

In  the  morning  he  came  upon  a  party  of  men  cut- 
ting wood,  and  found  that  they  were  Rebel  soldiers 
outside  of  the  picket  line.  Paul  took  an  axe  and 
went  to  work,  and  so  became  one  of  them.  When 


Scouting.  161 

they  went  into  camp  he  accompanied  them,  carrying 
the  axe  on  his  shoulder,  thus  passing  the  picket  as 
a  wood-chopper.  He  found  three  or  four  thousand 
soldiers  at  Fort  Henry,  hard  at  work,  throwing  up 
breastworks,  digging  ditches,  hewing  timber,  mount- 
ing guns.  He  worked  with  them,  but  kept  his  eyes 
and  ears  open,  noticing  the  position  of  the  fort  on 
the  bank  of  the  river,  and  how  many  guns  there  were. 
He  found  out  what  troops  were  there,  where  they 
came  from,  and  who  commanded  them.  He  learned 
that  a  wagon-train  was  going  to  Fort  Donelson  after 
ammunition.  He  joined  it  and  passed  the  picket  as 
one  of  the  train  guards.  As  the  wagons  were  empty, 
he  had  a  chance  to  ride,  and  thus  saved  a  weary 
walk  of  twelve  miles. 

The  little  town  of  Dover,  which  is  near  Fort  Do- 
nelson,  he  found  alive  with  troops;  regiments  were 
arriving  from  Arkansas,  Mississippi,  Texas,  and  Ten- 
nessee. General  Pillow  was  there  in  command.  He 
was  once  an  officer  in  the  army  of  the  United  States 
and  fought  in  Mexico.  General  Floyd  was  there 
with  a  brigade  of  Virginians.  He  was  Secretary  ^f 
War  when  Buchanan  was  President,  and  did  what 
he  could  to  destroy  the  Union,  He  was  a  thief  as 

X 


1 62  Winning  his  Way. 

well  as  a  Rebel.  He  was  a  large,  coarse  man.  Paul 
despised  him,  and  could  hardly  restrain  himself  from 
knocking  the  villain  from  his  horse  when  he  saw 
him  ride  by  wearing  the  uniform  of  a  traitor.  There 
was  not  much  discipline  in  the  Rebel  army,  and 
Paul  found  little  difficulty  in  going  through  all  the 
camps,  ascertaining  what  regiments  were  there.  It 
nettled  him  to  hear  the  boasts  of  the  soldiers  that 
one  Southerner  could  whip  five  Yankees,  but  he 
said  nothing  for  fear  of  betraying  himself.  He  ob- 
tained food  at  a  sutler's  tent.  He  was  very  tired 
and  sleepy  when  the  second  night  came,  but  he 
found  a  place  to  sleep  at  a  house  in  the  village. 

"  What  regiment  do  you  belong  to  ? "  asked  a  girl 
with  a  sallow  countenance  and  grimy  hands. 

"I  am  a  scout,"  said  Paul. 

"Be  you  a  scout?  Wai,  I  hope  you  will  run 
across  Old  Abe  Linkum.  If  you  do,  jest  take  his 
skdp  for  me."  (She  meant  his  scalp.) 

"Wai,  if  I  cotch  him,  I  reckon  I'll  skelp  him," 
said  Paul,  flourishing  his  knife,  as  if  he  was  ready 
for  such  bloody  work. 

"The  Yanks  are  a  set  of  vagabonds;  they  are 
the  meanest  critters  on  airth,"  said  the  woman. 
"  They  '11  hang  you  if  they  cotch  you." 


Scouting.  163 

"I  reckon  I  won't  let  'em  cotch  me,"   said  Paul 

"Where  be  you  gwine  next?" 

"Down  to  Cairo,  I  reckon;  though  I  go  wherever 
the  General  sends  me." 

"May  be  you  would  do  a  little  chore  for  me, — 
get  me  some  pins,  needles,  and  thread?" 

"It  is  mighty  skittish  business,  but  I'll  see  what 
I  can  do,"  said  Paul 

Having  obtained  his  information,  his  next  busi- 
ness was  to  get  away.  He  waited  till  the  lights 
were  put  out  in  the  camps  at  night,  then,  walking 
down  to  the  river  lie  found  a  small  boat,  jumped 
in  and  pushed  out  into  the  stream.  He  could  see 
the  sentinels  on  the  parapet  of  the  fort  as  he  floated 
past,  but  they  did  not  discover  him.  Paul  congratu- 
lated himself  that  he  was  beyond  the  picket  line 
when  he  heard  a  hail  from  both  shores  at  the  same 
time.  "Boat  ahoy!"  He  made  no  reply.  "Boat 
ahoy  1  come  ashore  or  I  '11  fire,"  said  both  sentinels. 
He  saw  that  he  could  not  escape  by  rowing.  They 
would  fire  if  he  attempted  to  go  ahead  or  turn  back. 
If  he  went  ashore,  he  would  be  taken  to  the  guard- 
house, questioned,  probably  put  into  prison,  perhaps 
tried  as  a  spy.  He  resolved  that  he  would  n't  go 


164  Winning  his   Way. 

ashore.  There  was  no  time  for  deliberation.  It  was 
mid-winter ;  the  air  was  keen,  and  there  was  floating 
ice  in  the  river.  If  he  remained  in  the  boat  he 
might  be  shot,  so  he  lowered  himself  noiselessly 
into  the  water.  How  cold  it  was!  He  felt  the 
chill  strike  through  him,  setting  his  teeth  to  chatter- 
ing, and  his  limbs  quivering.  There  was  another 
hail,  and  then  a  flash  on  both  shores.  The  balls 
went  through  the  boat  He  heard  the  stroke  of 
oars,  and  saw  a  boat  pushing  out  from  the  shore. 
He  darted  ahead,  swimming  noiselessly  down  stream, 
gradually  nearing  the  shore,  for  his  strength  was 
failing.  He  heard  the  men  in  the  boat  say,  "We 
are  fooled,  it  is  only  an  empty  dug-out." 

How  hard  it  was  to  climb  the  bank!  He  could 
not  stand,  he  was  so  chilled.  Once  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  but  tumbled  like  a  log  to  the  ground.  He 
wanted  to  go  to  sleep,  but  he  knew  it  would  be  his 
last  sleep  if  he  yielded.  He  drained  the  water  from 
his  boots,  rubbed  his  legs,  thrashed  his  hands,  and 
then  went  reeling  and  blundering  in  the  darkness 
over  fallen  trees.  What  a  wearisome,  cheerless  night 
it  was !  How  he  longed  for  a  fire,  —  a  cup  of  warm 
coifee,  —  a  comfortable  bed  1  He  thought  of  his  own 


Scouting.  165 

bed  in  the  little  old  house  at  New  Hope,  and  wished 
that  he  might  lie  there  once  more,  and  snuggle  down 
beneath  the  warm  comforters.  His  clothes  were 
frozen,  and  notwithstanding  he  beat  his  hands  till 
the  blood  dripped  from  his  fingers,  he  could  get  up 
no  warmth.  "Halt!  Who  comes  there?'*  was  the 
sharp  challenge  which  startled  him  from  his  dream- 
ing. He  was  close  upon  a  picket.  He  turned  in 
an  instant,  and  began  to  run.  He  heard  footsteps 
following.  The  thought  that  he  was  pursued  roused 
all  his  energies.  The  footsteps  came  nearer.  Put- 
ting forth  all  his  strength,  holding  his  breath,  Paul 
went  on,  stumbling,  rising  again,  leaping,  hearing 
the  footsteps  of  his  pursuer  coming  nearer;  sud- 
denly he  came  to  a  deep,  narrow  creek.  He  did 
not  hesitate  an  instant,  but  plunged  in,  swam  to 
the  other  bank,  gained  the  solid  ground,  and  dropped 
behind  a  tree  just  as  his  pursuer  reached  the  creek. 
The  Rebel  stopped  and  listened,  but  Paul  remained 
perfectly  still,  hardly  daring  to  breathe,  till  he  heard 
the  fellow  go  back  muttering  to  himself  and  cursing 
the  creek.  The  running  had  warmed  Paul,  but  he 
was  exhausted  and  drenched  once  more.  Daybreak 
ca  me,  and  he  did  not  dare  to  travel ;  so,  finding  some 


1 66  Winning  his  Way. 

stacks  of  corn  in  a  field,  he  tore  one  of  them  open, 
made  a  bed  inside,  drew  the  bundles  over  him,  shiv- 
ered awhile,  and  then  dropped  asleep. 

He  awoke  suddenly  to  find  his  house  tumbling  to 
pieces,  —  torn  down  by  Rebel  soldiers. 

"Hello!  What's  here?  Who  be  ye?  What  are 
ye  up  to?"  said  a  sergeant,  startled  to  find  a  man 
under  the  bundles.  "Deserter,  eh?  or  a  spy,  I 
reckon,"  said  the  fellow,  holding  a  pistol  to  Paul's 
head. 

"Better  put  up  your  shooting-irons,"  said  Paul 
coolly. 

"  Give  an  account  of  yourself,  how  ye  came  here, 
whar  ye  have  been,  and  whar  ye  gwine." 

Paul  noticed  that  he  said  whar  for  where,  and  re- 
plied, "I  am  a  scout,  and  have  been  down  by  the 
river  whar  the  Yankee  gunboats  is." 

rt  I  don't  believe  it ;  you  look  like  a  scarecrow,  but 
I  reckon  you  are  a  Yankee  spy,"  said  the  Sergeant 
He  searched  Paul,  but  found  nothing.  He  was  com- 
manding a  cavalry  foraging-party,  and  was  a  brutal, 
ignorant  fellow,  and  had  been  drinking  whiskey,  and 
wanted  to  show  that  he  had  power.  "Boys,  bring 
a  halter ;  I  reckon  I  '11  make  this  fellow  confess  that 
he  is  a  Yankee." 


Scouting.  167 

A  soldier  brought  a  rope;  one  end  was  thrown 
over  the  limb  of  a  tree,  and  the  other  made  into  a 
slip-noose,  and  put  round  his  neck ;  but  he  did  not 
flinch.  To  confess  that  he  was  a  spy. was  sure  death. 
He  was  calm.  For  a  moment  his  thoughts  went  back 
to  his  home.  He  thought  of  his  mother  and  Azalia  ; 
but  there  was  little  time  for  such  reflection.  He  did 
not  feel  that  his  work  was  done.  "Wai,  Sergeant, 
what  be  you  gwine  to  do?"  he  asked.. 

"  Hang  you  as  a  spy,"  said  the  Sergeant. 

"  What  sort  of  a  report  will  you  make  to  the  General  ( 
What  do  ye  think  he  will  do  to  you  when  he  finds 
that  you  have  hung  one  of  his  scouts  ? "  Paul  asked. 

"  See  here,  Sergeant,  I  reckon  your  are  a  leetle  too 
fast  in  this  matter,"  said  one  of  the  soldiers. 

Paul  saw  that  the  time  had  come  for  a  bold  course 
on  his  part.  He  had  already  ascertained  what  regi- 
ment of  cavalry  they  belonged  to.  He  had  seen 
their  Colonel  at  Dover.  "What  do  you  suppose 
Colonel  Forrest  will  say,  when  he  hears  of  this  pro- 
ceeding of  yours  ? "  he  asked. 

The  Sergeant  started  at  the  mention  of  the  name 
of  his  commander,  and  began  to  see  the  proceeding 
in  a  new  light.  Paul  threw  the  noose  from  his  neck 


1 68  Winning  his   Way. 

and  said,  in  a  tone  of  authority :  "  I  will  report  you, 
sir.  I  will  have  you  arrested.  I  '11  teach  you  to  do 
your  duty  better  than  this.  I  am  an  officer.  I  know 
General  Pillow,  General  Floyd,  General  Buckner,  and 
Colonel  Forrest.  I  am  out  on  important  business. 
You  found  me  asleep,  and  instead  of  taking  me  to 
your  superior  officer,  as  you  ought  to  have  done,  you 
proceed  to  hang  me.  You  are  drunk,  sir,  and  I  '11 
have  you  punished." 

The  Sergeant  was  very  much  frightened.  He  saw 
how  noble  a  countenance  Paul  had,  and  felt  his  tone 
of  authority.  "  I  did  n't  mean  any  harm,  sir ;  I  wanted 
to  do  my  duty,"  said  the  Sergeant,  taking  off  his 
hat,  and  holding  down  his  head. 

"  Because  you  are  a  sergeant,  you  wanted  to  show 
your  authority,"  said  Paul.  "  Now  go  about  your 
business,  all  of  you,  and  when  I  get  to  General  Pil- 
low's head-quarters  I  will  see  to  your  case." 

The  soldiers  who  had  gathered  round  started  off 
at  once  to  their  work,  while  Paul  walked  towards  Fort 
Donelson.  He  had  gone  but  a  few  steps,  when  the 
Sergeant  followed  him,  and,  taking  off  his  hat,  said, 
"  Please,  Colonel,  don't  be  too  hard  on  me,  I  won't 
do  so  again." 

"  It  will  be  my  duty  to  report  you ;  but  if  you  will 


Scotiting.  169 

promise  to  be  more  careful  in  the  futuie  I  will  tell 
the  General  when  I  make  my  report  not  to  be  too 
hard,"  said  Paul. 

*'I  '11  be  more  keerful  next  time,  and  won't  get 
drunk  again,  Colonel,  never." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Paul,  walking  on  till  he  reached 
a  piece  of  woods;  then,  turning  from  the  path,  he 
made  his  way  towards  the  river  again,  wondering  at 
his  escape.  He  had  a  long  walk  through  the  woods, 
but  when  he  reached  the  gunboats  lying  in  the  stream, 
how  his  heart  leaped  for  joy ! 

He  kept  all  he  had  seen  so  well  in  memory,  that 
when  he  reached  Cairo  he  was  able  to  draw  an  accu- 
rate plan  of  the  forts  and  country  around  them. 

General  Grant  listened  to  his  story  with  great  inter- 
est, and  when  -Paul  had  finished  said,  "  You  have 
performed  your  work  acceptably  ;  you  understand 
topography;  I  wish  to  keep  you  at  my  head-quar- 
ters, and  therefore  appoint  you  a  Lieutenant  of  En- 
gineers." 

It  was  so  unexpected  a  promotion,  and  such  an 
expression  of  confidence,  that  Paul  was  very  much 
confused,  and  could  only   say,  while  blushing  very 
red,  "f  thank  you,  sir." 
8 


170  Winning  his  Way. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MISSED    FROM    HOME. 

HOW  lonesome  it  was  in  New  Hope  through 
all  these  days  I  Everybody  missed  Paul.  He 
was  missed  by  the  school-children,  for  the  teacher 
who  succeeded  him  was  cross  and  harsh,  while  Paul 
was  always  kind  and  pleasant.  He  was  missed  by 
the  congregation  on  Sunday,  for  although  Hans  did 
his  best  as  leader  of  the  choir,  he  could  not  fill  Paul's 
place.  He  was  missed  by  his  mother,  who,  through 
the  long,  wearisome  days  and  lonely  nights,  thought 
only  of  him,  her  pride,  her  joy,  her  hope.  How  good 
Azalia  was  to  visit  the  Post-office  every  morning  to 
get  the  letters  which  Paul  wrote  to  his  mother,  often 
finding  one  for  herself !  How  pleasant  to  read  what 
he  wrote  of  life  in  camp !  How  thrilling  the  narra- 
tive of  his  adventures,  his  visit  to  the  forts,  his  nar- 
row escapes !  As  she  read  it,  her  heart  stood  stil1 
while  the  letter  was  wet  with  tears.  What  if  the 
rebels  had  hung  him !  It  was  terrible  to  think  of. 
What  could  she  do  to  comfort  him  ?  How  help  him, 


Missed  from  Home.  171 

—  how  relieve  his  sufferings  and  hardships/  She 
would  knit  him  a  pair  of  gloves  and  stockings.  But 
his  comrades  needed  them  as  well  as  he.  Why  not 
ask  Daphne  to  help?  Why  not  ask  all  the  girls  to 
do  something  ?  So  she  thought  the  matter  over 
through  the  long  winter  nights,  planning  a  soldiers' 
sewing  and  knitting  society. 

Pleasant  gatherings  they  had  in  the  vestry  of  the 
church  on  Wednesday  afternoons  working  for  the 
soldiers.  Azalia's  cheeks  were  flushed  with  rare 
beauty  when  she  read  Paul's  letters  to  them  with 
trembling  voice.  There  were  many  moist  eyes,  for 
all  felt  that,  if  he  and  his  comrades  were  undergo- 
ing such  hardships  and  dangers  for  them,  that  they 
might  have  a  home  and  a  united  country,  they  ought 
to  do  all  they  could  in  return ;  and  so,  while  knitting 
stockings  for  the  soldiers,  their  hearts  were  knit  in 
deeper  love  and  devotion  to  their  country. 

But  they  had  something  besides  Paul's  adventures 
to  talk  about ;  for  one  Monday  morning  when  Mr. 
Bond,  the  town  treasurer,  opened  his  office,  he  found 
that  it  had  been  entered  by  robbers,  who  had  stolen 
all  the  money,  —  several  thousand  dollars.  It  was 
soon  discovered  that  Philip  Funk  was  missing.  The 


172  Winning  his   Way. 

sheriffs  and  constables  set  themselves  to  hunt  him 
up.  They  got  upon  his  track,  followed  him  to  the 
Ohio  River,  and  across  into  Kentucky ;  but  he  was 
too  swift  for  them,  and  succeeded  in  getting  into 
the  Rebel  lines  with  the  stolen  money.  Notwith- 
standing he  was  a  robber,  his  sister  Fanny  held  her 
head  as  high  as  ever.  She  did  not  attend  the  sol- 
diers' aid  society.  She  hoped  that  the  South  would 
succeed  in  establishing  its  independence,  and  was 
glad  that  Philip  had  gone  to  help  the  Southern  sol- 
diers. "I  hope  he  will  come  across  Paul,"  said 
Fanny  to  Daphne  Dare  one  day. 

"  So  do  I,  and  I  hope  that  Paul  will  shoot  him," 
said  Daphne,  with  flashing  eyes.  She  had  the  spirit 
of  her  father,  and  added,  "  He  is  a  traitor  and  a  rob- 
ber, and  I  hope  somebody  will  shoot  him." 

Fanny  spit  at  the  flag  which  hung  over  the  street 
every  time  she  passed  it,  to  show  her  hatred  of  it. 
Daphne  was  very  indignant,  and  proposed  to  hei 
associates  that  they  should  compel  Fanny  to  wave 
the  stars  and  stripes;  but  Azalia  said  it  would  be 
a  severer  punishment  to  take  no  notice  of  her.  "  We 
might  make  her  wave  the  flag,  but  that  would  not 
make  her  love  it,  and  such  forced  loyalty  would  be 
of  no  value." 


Missed  from  Home.  173 

So,  acting  upon  Azalia's  advice,  all  of  the  girls 
passed  her  by,  taking  no  notice  of  her  on  the  street, 
at  the  Post-office,  or  in  church,  not  recognizing  her 
by  word  or  look.  Fanny  bore  it  awhile  with  a  brazen 
face,  but  soon  found  it  hard  to  have  no  one  to  speak 
to.  The  great  want  of  the  human  heart  in  time  of 
trouble  is  sympathy.  Our  wills  may  bear  us  up 
awhile,  but  sooner  or  later  we  must  unburden  our 
feelings,  or  feel  the  burning  of  a  slow  consuming  fire, 
destroying  all  our  peace  and  happiness.  The  days 
were  cheerless  to  Fanny.  If  she  walked  out  upon 
the  street,  she  saw  only  the  averted  faces  of  her 
former  friends.  They  would  not  speak  to  her,  and 
if  she  addressed  them  they  turned  away  without  an- 
swering,—  avoiding  her  as  if  she  was  infected  with 
the  plague.  When  the  cold  northeast  storms  came, 
when  the  clouds  hung  low  upon  the  hills,  when  the 
wind  howled  in  the  woods,  when  the  rain  pattered 
upon  the  withered  leaves,  how  lonesome  the  hours ! 
She  was  haughty  and  self-willed,  friendless  and  alone ; 
but  instead  of  becoming  loyal  and  behaving  like  a 
good,  sensible  girl,  she  nursed  her  pride;  and  com- 
forted herself  by  thinking  that  her  great-grandfather 
Funk  was  a  fine  old  Virginian  gentleman.  If  a  still, 


1/4  Winning  Jtis   Way. 

small  voice  whispered  that  it  was  mean  and  wicked 
in  Philip  to  take  money  which  did  not  belong  to  him, 
she  quieted  her  conscience  by  the  reflection  that  it 
was  right  for  the  Rebels  to  do  all  the  damage  they 
could  to  their  enemies  in  securing  their  independence. 
When  the  storm  was  loudest,  she  rejoiced  in  the  hope 
that  some  of  the  Yankee  ships  would  be  wrecked, 
or  that  the  Mississippi  River  would  overflow  its  bank 
and  drown  the  Yankee  regiments  in  their  camps. 

Not  so  did  Azalia  listen  to  the  storm.  When  the 
great  drops  rattled  upon  the  roof  and  dashed  against 
the  windows,  she  thought  of  Paul  and  his  comrades 
as  rushing  into  battle  amid  volleys  of  musketry ;  the 
mournful  sighing  of  the  wind  was  like  the  wailing 
of  the  wounded.  She  thought  of  him  as  marching 
wearily  and  alone  through  the  dismal  forest  to  per- 
form deeds  of  daring;  she  thought  of  him  as  keeping 
watch  through  the  stormy  nights,  cold,  wet,  hungry, 
and  weary ;  not  for  glory,  or  fame,  or  hope  of  reward, 
but  because  it  was  his  duty.  And  these  were  no* 
sad  hours  to  her. 


The  March.  17$ 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE    MARCH. 

ON  Wednesday,  the  i2th  of  February,  1862,  Paul 
found  himself  once  more  upon  the  road  leading 
from  Fort  Henry  to  Fort  Donelson,  not  now  alone, 
but  guiding  an  army  of  fifteen  thousand  men,  with 
forty  pieces  of  artillery.  He  was  on  horseback,  and 
sat  so  well  in  the  saddle  that  the  cavalrymen  said 
he  rode  like  an  old  trooper.  He  was  in  uniform, 
and  wore  straps  on  his  shoulders,  and  was  armed 
with  a  sword  and  a  revolver.  He  rode  in  advance 
of  all,  looking  sharply  into  the  thickets  and  down 
the  ravines,  to  see  if  there  were  any  Rebels  in  am- 
bush. 

The  sharpshooters  followed  him.  They  wore  gray 
jackets  and  skull-caps,  and  were  armed  with  rifles 
and  long  hunting-knives.  They  were  famous  hunters, 
and  could  shoot  a  deer  upon  the  run,  or  bring  down 
a  prairie-chicken  upon  the  wing.  They  were  tough, 
hearty,  jolly,  courageous,  daring  fellows.  They  were 
In  good  spirits,  for  the  rebels  had  fled  in  dismay  from 


176  Whining  his   Way. 

Fort  Henry  when  the  gunboats  senty  their  shells  into 
the  fort 

It  was  a  hard  march,  for  the  roads  were  muddy, 
and  they  were  obliged  to  wade  through  creeks  al- 
though it  was  midwinter.  Paul  noticed  one  brave 
fellow  among  them,  whose  feet  were  so  sore  that  his 
steps  were  marked  with  blood,  which  oozed  from  a 
hole  in  the  side  of  his  shoe,  and  yet  the  man  kept 
his  place  in  the  ranks. 

"  Let  me  carry  your  gun,"  said  Paul,  and  so,  tak- 
ing it  across  his  saddle,  helped  the  soldier.  "  You 
ought  to  be  in  the  hospital,"  said  Paul. 

"  I  can't  stay  behind  if  there  is  to  be  any  fighting," 
said  the  soldier,  thanking  Paul  for  his  kindness ;  and 
then,  in  a  low  tone,  the  soldier  said  to  his  comrade^ 
"There  a'n't  many  officers  like  him  who  will  help  a 
fellow." 

At  sunset  the  army  halted  in  the  woods  beside  a 
brook.  Tents  had  been  left  behind,  and  the  soldiers 
had  no  shelter  from  the  wintry  air.  They  cut  down 
great  trees  and  kindled  huge  fires.  The  farmers-  in 
that  part  of  the  country  had  large  herds  of  pigs, 
which  roamed  the  woods  and  lived  on  nuts.  The 
soldiers  had  lived  on  salt  meats  for  many  months, 


The  March.  177 

and,  notwithstanding  orders  had  been  issued  against 
committing  depredations,  they  were  determined  to 
have  a  good  supper.  Crack !  crack !  crack !  went 
their  rifles.  Some,  instead  of  shooting,  tried  to  catch 
the  pigs.  There  were  exciting  chases,  and  laughable 
scenes,  —  a  dozen  men  after  one  pig,  trying  to  seize 
him  by  the  ears,  or  by  the  hind  legs,  or  by  the  tail. 

They  had  a  charming  time,  sitting  around  the  roar- 
ing fires,  inhaling  the  savory  odors  of  the  steaks  and 
spareribs  broiling  and  roasting  over  the  glowing  coals 
on  forked  sticks,  and  of  the  coffee  bubbling  in  their 
tin  cups.  The  foot-sore  sharpshooter  whom  Paul  had 
helped  on  the  march  cooked  a  choice  and  tender 
piece,  and  presented  it  to  Paul  on  a  chip,  for  they 
had  no  plates.  It  was  cooked  so  nicely  that  Paul 
thought  he  had  never  tasted  a  more  delicious  morsel. 

In  the  morning  they  had  an  excellent  breakfast, 
and  then  resumed  the  march,  moving  slowly  and 
cautiously  through  the  woods,  but  finding  no  enemy 
till  they  came  in  sight  of  Fort  Donelson. 

Paul   had  guided  the  army  to  the  fort,   but  now 

he  had  other  duties  to  perform.     He  was  required 

to   make  a   sketch  of  the  ground  around  the  fort, 

that  General  Grant  might  know  where   to  form  his 

8»  L 


178  Winning  his  Way. 

lines.  —  on  what  hills  to  plant  his  cannon,  —  where 
to  throw  up  breastworks  for  defence,  should  the 
rebels  see  fit  to  come  out  and  attack  him.  Leav- 
ing his  horse  behind,  Paul  began  his  dangerous 
but  important  work  on  foot,  that  he  might  make 
an  accurate  map,  —  examining  through  his  field-glass 
the  breastworks  of  the  rebels,  counting  their  cannon, 
and  beholding  them  hard  at  work.  When  night 
came  he  crept  almost  up  to  their  lines.  He  was 
between  the  two  armies,  —  a  dangerous  position, 
for  the  pickets  on  both  sides  were  wide  awake, 
and  his  own  comrades  might  fire  upon  him  before 
he  could  give  the  countersign.  Although  he  stepped 
lightly,  the  sticks  sometimes  crackled  beneath  his 
feet. 

"  Halt !  Who  goes  there  ? "  shouted  a  Rebel  picket 
directly  in  front  of  him.  It  was  so  sudden,  and 
he  was  so  near,  that  Paul's  hair  stood  on  end.  He 
darted  behind  a  tree.  Click  !  flash !  bang !  and  a 
bullet  came  with  a  heavy  thug  into  the  tree.  Bang  ! 
went  another  gun,  —  another,  —  and  another  ;  and 
the  pickets  all  along  the  rebel  lines,  thinking  that 
the  Yankees  were  coming,  blazed  away  at  random. 
The  Yankee  pickets,  thinking  that  the  rebels  were 


The  March.  179 

advancing,  became  uneasy  and  fired  in  return.  Paul 
could  hear  the  bullets  spin  through  the  air  and  strike 
into  the  trees.  His  first  thought  was  to  get  back 
to  his  comrades  as  soon  as  possible ;  then  he  reflected 
that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  attempt  it  just  then. 
The  firing  woke  up  all  the  sleepers  in  the  two  armies. 
The  drums  were  beating  the  long  roll,  the  bugles 
were  sounding,  and  he  could  hear  the  Rebel  officers 
shouting  to  the  men,  "  Fall  in  !  fall  in  !  "  He  laughed 
to  think  that  the  crackling  of  a  stick  had  produced 
all  this  uproar.  He  wanted  very  much  to  join  in 
the  fun,  and  give  the  Rebel  picket  who  had  fired  at 
him  a  return  shot,  but  his  orders  were  not  to  fire  even 
if  fired  upon,  for  General  Grant  was  not  ready  for 
a  battle,  and  so,  while  the  Rebels  were  reloading  their 
guns,  he  glided  noiselessly  away.  When  he  heard 
the  bullets  singing  he  expected  to  be  hit  ;  but  as  he 
was  less  than  six  feet  high  and  only  eighteen  inches 
across  his  shoulders,  and  as  it  was  dark  and  the  sol- 
diers were  firing  at  random,  he  calculated  that  there 
was  not  one  chance  in  a  million  of  his  being  injured, 
and  so  through  the  night  he  went  on  with  his  recon- 
noissance  along  the  lines,  and  completed  the  work 
assigned  him. 


i8o  Winning  his   Way. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE    BATTLE. 

IN  the  morning  he  found  General  Grant  in  a  little 
old  farm-house,  where  he  had  established  his 
head-quarters.  He  appeared  to  be  pleased  with  the 
map  which  Paul  made  of  the  ground,  and  said  to 
Major  Cavender,  who  commanded  the  regiment  of 
Missouri  Artillery,  "  Place  your  guns  on  that  hill,  and 
be  ready  to  open  upon  the  fort."  He  issued  orders 
to  General  McClernand  to  go  round  to  the  southwest 
side  of  the  town ;  to  General  Wallace,  to  hold  the 
centre  of  the  line,  west  of  the  town  ;  and  to  General 
Smith,  to  be  ready  to  storm  the  fort  on  the  northwest 
side. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning.  The  air  was  mild,  and 
the  birds  sang  in  the  trees  though  it  was  midwinter. 
The  sharpshooters  ate  their  breakfast  before  sun- 
rise,  and  began  the  battle  by  exchanging  shots  with 
the  Rebel  pickets.  Though  Paul  had  been  up  all 
night,  there  was  no  time  for  rest.  He  was  sent  with 
orders  to  the  artillery  officers,  —  to  Captain  Taylor, 


The  Battle.  181 

Captain  Dresser,  and  Captain  Schwartz,  telling  them 
where  to  place  their  guns.  As  he  rode  over  the  hills 
and  through  the  ravines,  he  passed  the  sharpshooters. 
Their  rifles  were  cracking  merrily.  Among  them  was 
the  soldier  whom  Paul  had  helped  on  the  march. 
The  soldier  saluted  him.  Paul  saw  that  he  was  not 
only  foot-sore,  but  also  sick. 

"  You  are  not  fit  to  go  into  battle ;  you  ought  to 
report  to  the  surgeon,"  said  Paul. 

"  I  would  n't  miss  of  being  in  this  scrimmage  that 
we  are  going  to  have  to-day  for  the  best  farm  in 
Illinois,"  said  the  soldier. 

Just  then,  the  rebel  cannon  opened,  and  the  shells 
came  crashing  through  the  front.  Major  Cavender 
had  wheeled  his  guns  into  position,  and  was  sighting 
them.  One  of  the  shells  struck  at  his  feet,  and 
ploughed  a  deep  furrow  in  the  ground.  Another 
struck  a  poor  fellow  in  the  breast,  whirled  him  into 
the  air,  spattering  his  blood  upon  those  who  stood 
around,  killing  him  instantly.  As  Paul  beheld  the 
quivering  flesh,  the  sight  filled  him  with  horror,  and 
made  him  sick  at  heart.  Such  might  be  his  fate 
before  the  day  was  done.  He  thought  of  home,  — 
of  his  mother,  of  Azalia,  and  of  the  dear  friends 


1 82  Winning  his  Way. 

far  away.  He  thought  also  of  God,  and  the  here- 
after; but  remembered  that  he  was  in  the  keeping 
of  his  Heavenly  Father.  He  was  there  to  do  his  duty, 
and  if  he  was  to  meet  with  death,  would  meet  it  res- 
olutely ;  and  so,  regaining  his  composure,  rode  calm- 
ly along  the  lines,  acting  as  aid  to  General  Grant 
doing  the  duties  assigned  him. 

The  battle  lasted  through  the  day,  but  the  fort 
was  not  taken.  The  gunboats  which  were  to  sail 
up  the  Cumberland  River  had  not  arrived,  and  the 
provisions  which  the  troops  brought  from  Fort  Henry 
were  nearly  exhausted.  The  day  which  had  been 
so  bright  and  beautiful  was  succeeded  by  a  dreary 
night.  The  wind  blew  from  the  northeast.  A  rain- 
storm set  in,  which  changed  to  snow,  and  became 
one  of  the  severest  storms  ever  known  in  that  sec- 
tion of  the  country.  It  was  a  terrible  night  for  the 
wounded.  They  had  no  protection  from  the  storm. 
Hundreds  had  fallen  during  the  day.  Some  were 
lying  where  they  fell,  close  up  under  the  Rebel  breast- 
works, amid  the  tangled  thickets,  the  blood  oozing 
from  their  wounds  and  staining  the  drifting  snow. 
It  was  heart-rending  to  hear  their  wailings,  and  cries 
of  distress,  and  calls  for  help.  When  morning  came, 


The  Battle.  183 

many  a  brave  soldier  was  frozen  to  the  ground. 
When  Paul  saw  the  terrible  suffering,  he  felt  that 
he  was  willing  to  make  any  sacrifice  to  put  a  stop 
to  such  horrors.  But  then  he  remembered  that 
Justice,  Truth,  and  Righteousness  are  more  valuable 
than  human  life,  and  that  it  is  better  to  fight  for  them 
than  to  yield  to  injustice  and  wickedness. 

But  now  the  hearts  of  the  soldiers  were  cheered 
with  the  news  that  the  gunboats  were  coming.  Paul 
looked  down  the  river  and  saw  a  cloud  of  black 
smoke  hanging  over  the  forest,  rising  from  their  tall 
chimneys.  Steamboats  loaded  with  provisions  came 
with  the  fleet.  The  soldiers  swung  their  caps,  and 
made  the  air  ring  with  their  lusty  cheers. 

What  a  magnificent  sight  it  was  when  the  gunboats 
steamed  up  the  river  and  opened  fire  upon  the  fort, 
covering  themselves  with  clouds  of  smoke  and  flame, 
and  all  of  the  guns  in  the  fort  replying  !  The  storm 
had  died  away,  the  air  was  still,  and  the  roar  of  the 
cannonade  was  like  thunder.  All  along  the  lines 
the  sharpshooters'  rifles  were  ringing.  The  soldiers 
crouched  behind  trees  and  logs  and  hillocks,  lying 
on  their  faces,  picking  off  the  Rebel  gunners  when 
they  attempted  to  load  their  cannon.  But  the  day 


1 84  Winning  his  Way. 

passed  and  the  fort  was  not  taken.  Saturday  morn- 
ing came,  and  the  Rebels,  finding  themselves  short 
of  provisions,  instead  of  waiting  to  be  attacked,  came 
out  from  the  fort  at  daybreak,  fifteen  thousand  strong, 
and  made  a  sudden  attack  upon  the  Union  army. 

A  great  battle  followed,  which  lasted  nearly  all 
day.  Thousands  were  killed  and  wounded.  Paul 
was  obliged  to  ride  all  over  the  field,  carrying  orders 
to  the  different  generals,  while  the  bullets  fell  like 
hailstones  around  him.  Cannon-balls  flew  past  him, 
shells  exploded  over  his  head,  men  fell  near  him, 
but  he  was  unharmed.  He  saw  with  grief  his  com- 
rades overpowered  and  driven,  and  could  hardly 
keep  back  the  tears  when  he  saw  the  Rebels  capture 
some  of  Captain  Schwartz's  guns.  But  when  the 
infantry  gave  way  and  fled  panic-stricken  along  the 
road  towards  Fort  Henry,  throwing  away  their  mus- 
kets, his  indignation  was  aroused. 

"  Stop !  or  I  '11  shoot  you,"  he  said,  drawing  his 
revolver. 

"  A'n't  you  ashamed  of  yourselves,  you  cowards  ? " 
shouted  one  brave  soldier. 

Paul  looked  round  to  see  who  it  was,  and  discover- 
ed his  friend  the  sharpshooter,  who  thus  aided  him 


The  Battle.  185 

in  rallying  the  fugitives.  Blood  was  dripping  from 
his  fingers.  A  ball  had  passed  through  one  arm, 
but  he  had  tied  his  handkerchief  over  the  wound, 
and  was  on  his  way  back  to  the  lines  to  take  part 
once  more  in  the  battle.  Paul  thanked  the  noble 
fellow  for  helping  him,  and  then,  with  the  aid  of 
other  officers,  they  rallied  the  fugitives  till  reinforce- 
ments came. 

Onward  came  the  Rebels,  flushed  with  success, 
and  thinking  to  win  a  glorious  victory  ;  but  they 
were  cut  down  with  shells  and  canister,  and  by  the 
volleys  of  musketry  which  were  poured  upon  them. 
It  was  with  great  satisfaction  that  Paul  saw  the  shells 
tear  through  the  Rebel  ranks;  not  that  he  liked  to 
see  men  killed,  but  because  he  wanted  Right  to  tri- 
umph over  Wrong.  Again  and  again  the  Rebels 
marched  up  the  hill,  but  were  as  often  swept  back 
by  the  terrible  fire  which  burst  from  Captain  Wood's, 
Captain  Willard's,  Captain  Taylor's,  and  Captain 
Dresser's  batteries.  The  little  brook  which  trickled 
through  the  ravine  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  was  red 
with  the  blood  of  the  slain.  It  was  a  fearful  sight. 
But  the  Rebels  at  last  gave  up  the  attempt  to  drive 
the  Union  troops  from  the  hill,  and  went  back  into 


1 86  Winning  his   Way. 

the  fort  Then  in  the  afternoon  there  was  a  grand 
charge  upon  the  Rebel  breastworks.  With  a  wild 
hurrah  they  carried  the  old  flag  across  the  ravine, 
and  up  the  hill  beyond,  over  fallen  trees  and  through 
thick  underbrush.  Men  dropped  from  the  ranks  in 
scores,  but  on  —  on  —  on  they  went,  driving  the 
Rebels,  planting  the  stars  and  stripes  on  the  works ; 
and  though  the  Rebel  regiments  in  the  fort  rained 
solid  shot  and  shell  and  grape  and  canister  and 
musket-balls  upon  them,  yet  they  held  the  ground 
through  the  long,  weary,  dreary  winter  night.  When 
the  dawn  came,  the  dawn  of  Sunday,  they  saw  a 
white  flag  flung  out  from  the  parapet  of  the  fort,  and 
they  knew  that  the  enemy  had  surrendered.  What 
a  cheer  they  gave !  They  swung  their  hats,  sang 
songs,  and  danced  for  joy.  How  beautifully  the 
stars  and  stripes  waved  in  the  morning  breeze ! 
How  proudly  they  marched  into  the  fort  and  into 
the  town,  —  the  drums  beating,  the  bugles  sounding, 
and  the  bands  playing! 

But  how  horrible  the  sight  upon  the  field  when 
the  contest  was  over,  —  the  dead,  some  cold  and 
ghastly,  others  still  warm  with  departing  life,  lying 
with  their  faces  toward  heaven,  smiling  as  if  only 


The  Battle.  187 

asleep!  The  ground  was  strewn  with  guns,  knap- 
sacks, and  blood-stained  garments;  the  snow  had 
changed  to  crimson.  Many  wounded  were  lying 
where  they  fell,  some  whose  lives  were  ebbing  away 
calmly  waiting  the  coming  of  death.  As  Paul  walked 
over  the  field  he  came  upon  one  lying  with  clasped 
hands  and  closed  eyes,  whose  blood  was  flowing  from 
a  ghastly  wound  in  his  breast.  As  Paul  stopped  to 
gaze  a  moment  upon  a  countenance  which  seemed 
familiar,  the  soldier  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled; 
then  Paul  saw  that  it  was  the  brave  sharpshooter 
whom  he  had  helped  on  the  march,  who,  though 
sick,  would  not  go  into  the  hospital,  though  wounded, 
would  not  leave  the  field,  and  had  aided  him  in  ral- 
lying the  fugitives.  He  had  fought  gallantly  through 
the  battle,  and  received  his  death-wound  in  the  last 
grand  charge. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come,  for  I  know  that  one 
who  was  kind  enough  to  help  a  poor  fellow  on  the 
march  will  be  willing  to  do  one  thing  more,"  said 
the  soldier,  faintly. 

"  Certainly.     What  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 
"  Not  much,  only  I  would  like  to  have  you  over- 
haul my  knapsack  for  me." 


1 88  Winning'  his   Way. 

Paul  unstrapped  the  knapsack  from  the  soldier's 
back,  and  opened  it 

"There  is  a  picture  in  there  which  I  want  to 
look  at  once  more  before  I  die.  You  will  find  it 
in  my  Bible." 

Paul  handed  him  the  Bible. 

"  My  mother  gave  me  this  blessed  book  the  day 
I  left  home  to  join  the  army.  It  was  her  last  gift. 
I  promised  to  read  it  every  day,  and  I  would  like 
to  have  you  write  to  her  and  tell  her  that  I  have 
kept  my  promise.  Tell  her  that  I  have  tried  to  do 
my  duty  to  my  country  and  to  my  God.  I  would 
like  to  live,  but  am  not  afraid  to  die,  and  am  not 
sorry  that  I  enlisted.  Write  to  my  sister.  She  is 
a  sweet  girl,  —  I  can  see  her  now,  —  a  bright-eyed, 
light-hearted,  joyous  creature.  O,  how  she  will  miss 
me  !  Tell  her  to  plant  a  rose-bush  in  the  garden 
and  call  it  my  rose,  that  little  Eddie,  when  he  grows 
up,  may  remember  that  his  eldest  brother  died  for 
his  country.  They  live  away  up  in  Wisconsin." 

He  took  a  photograph  from  the  Bible.  It  was 
the  picture  of  a  dark-haired,  black-eyed,  fair-featured 
girl,  and  he  gazed  upon  it  till  the  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks  He  drew  his  brawny  hand  across  his  face 


The  Battle.  189 

and  wiped  them  away,  but  the  effort  started  the 
bright  blood  flowing  in  va  fresher  stream.  "  It  is 
hard  to  part  from  her.  She  promised  to  be  my 
wife  when  I  came  home  from  the  war,"  he  said,  and 
touched  it  to  his  lips,  then  gazed  again  till  his  sight 
grew  dim.  He  laid  it  with  the  Bible  on  his  breast 

Paul  wiped  the  cold  sweat  from  the  soldiers 
brow. 

"God  bless  you,"  he  whispered,  and  looked  up 
and  smiled.  His  eyes  closed,  and  the  slowly  heaving 
heart  stood  still.  He  was  gone  to  the  land  wheie 
the  Faithful  and  True  receive  their  just  reward. 


Winning  his   Way. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

SHOWING    WHAT    HE    WAS    MADE    OF. 

THERE  came  a  Sabbath  morning,  —  one  of  the 
loveliest  of  all  the  year.  The  sun  rose  upon 
a  cloudless  sky,  the  air  was  laden  with  the  fragrance 
of  locust  and  alder  blossoms,  the  oaks  of  the  forest 
were  changing  from  the  gray  of  winter  to  the  green 
of  summer.  Beneath  their  wide-spread  branches 
were  the  tents  of  a  great  army  ;  for  after  the  capture 
of  Fort  Donelson  the  troops  sailed  up  the  Tennessee, 
and  were  preparing  to  attack  the  Rebels  at  Corinth. 
Paul  was  lying  in  his  tent,  thinking  of  home,  of 
the  calmness  and  stillness  there,  broken  only  by  the 
chirping  of  the  sparrows  and  robins,  the  church-bell, 
the  choir,  and  the  low  voices  of  the  congregation. 
How  different  from  what  was  passing  around  him, 
where  the  drummers  were  beating  the  reveille  !  He 
was  startled  from  his  wSing  dream  by  a  sudden  fir- 
ing out  among  the  pickets.  What  could  it  mean? 
It  grew  more  furious.  There  was  confusion.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  looked  out  to  see  what  was 


Showing  what  he  was  made  of.         191 

the  matter.  Soldiers  were  running  through  the 
camp. 

"What  is  the  row?"  he  asked. 

"  The  Rebels  are  attacking  us." 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  dress ;  but,  while  pull- 
ing on  his  boots,  a  bullet  tore  through  the  tent-cloth 
over  his  head. 

The  camp  was  astir.  Officers  shouted,  "  Fall  in  I " 
Soldiers,  waking  from  sound  sleep,  buckled  on  their 
cartridge-boxes,  seized  their  guns,  and  took  their 
places  in  the  ranks  before  they  were  fairly  awake. 
The  drummers  beat  the  long-roll,  the  buglers  sounded 
the  signal  for  saddling  horses,  the  artillery-men  got 
their  guns  ready,  cavalry-men  leaped  into  their  sad- 
dles, baggage-wagons  went  thundering  towards  the 
river.  There  was  a  volley  of  musketry,  and  then  a 
deeper  roar  from  the  artillery,  and  the  terrible  con- 
test of  the  day  began,  which  became  more  terrific 
from  morning  till  noon,  from  noon  till  night,  with 
deafening  rolls  of  musketry,  with  the  roaring  of  a 
hundred  cannon,  with  the  yelling  of  the  Rebels  and 
the  cheering  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Union,  as  the  tem- 
pest surged  through  the  forest,  up  and  down  the  ra- 
vines, around  Shiloh  church,  in  the  old  cotton-fields, 


192  Winning  his  Way. 

up  to  the  spring  where  the  country  people  were  ac- 
customed to  eat  their  Sunday  dinners,  down  to  the 
Tennessee  River,  where  the  gunboats  were  waiting 
for  the  hour  when  they  could  open  with  their  great 
guns. 

Paul  was  in  the  storm,  riding  through  the  leaden 
hail  which  fell  all  around  him,  pattering  upon  the 
dead  leaves,  cutting  down  the  twigs  of  the  hazel- 
bushes,  and  scarring  the  trees,  —  riding  along  the 
lines  carrying  messages  to  General  Sherman,  who 
was  righting  like  a  tiger  by  the  church,  with  the  bul- 
lets piercing  his  clothes,  —  to  McClernand,  who  was 
near  by,  —  to  Wallace,  to  Prentice,  to  Hurlburt,  to 
Stuart,  —  riding  where  shells  were  bursting,  where 
solid  shot  cut  off  great  branches  from  the  trees, 
splintered  the  trunks,  ploughed  the  ground,  whirled 
men  and  horses  into  the  air,  tearing  them  limb  from 
limb,  and  then  passed  away  with  weird  bowlings. 
He  breathed  the  thick  smoke  as  it  belched  from  the 
cannon's  mouth,  and  felt  the  hot  flashes  on  his  face. 
He  stood  beside  his  commander,  General  Grant, 
while  waiting  for  orders,  and  beheld  him  when  tid- 
ings of  disaster  were  brought  in,  —  that  General 
Prentice  and  hundreds  of  his  men  were  captured,  — 


Showing  what  he  was  made  of.         193 

that  the  line  was  broken,  and  the  men  were  falling 
back.  He  could  hear  the  triumphant  shouts  of  the 
Rebels. 

Yet  amid  it  all  he  saw  that  General  Grant  was 
cool  and  collected.  "We  will  whip  them  yet,"  he 
said.  Paul  felt  stronger  after  that,  and  resolved  to 
die  rather  than  be  beaten.  But  how  slowly  dragged 
the  hours !  The  sun  seemed  to  stand  still  in  the 
western  sky.  How  hard  to  see  the  poor  wounded 
men,  thousands  of  them,  borne  to  the  rear,  their 
feet  crushed,  their  legs  broken,  their  arms  torn  and 
mangled,  and  to  know  that  there  were  other  thou- 
sands lying  upon  the  ground  where  they  had  fallen, 
and  the  strife  still  going  on  around  them  !  Other 
thousands  who  were  not  wounded  were  leaving  the 
ranks,  exhausted  and  disheartened. 

"Lieutenant  Parker,  you  will  select  a  line  along 
1  his  ravine,  throw  up  such  defences  as  you  can,  bring 
up  those  thirty-two  pounders  from  the  river,  and  put 
them  in  position.  They  can't  cross  this.  We  will 
beat  them  here,"  said  General  Grant. 

Sometimes  in  battle  minutes  are  of  priceless  value  j 
momentous  decisions  must  be  made  at  once.  Then 
men  show  what  they  are  made  of.  Those  are  the 
9  M 


194  Winning  his   Way. 

trial  moments  of  life.  Paul  galloped  along  the  ra> 
vine.  He  saw  that  it  was  wide  and  deep,  and  that, 
if  the  Rebels  could  be  kept  from  crossing  it,  the  bat- 
tle would  be  won;  for  it  was  their  object  to  reach 
the  steamboat-landing,  where  General  Grant  had  all 
his  supplies  of  food.  There  were  five  great  iron 
cannon  at  the  landing.  There,  also,  crouching  un- 
der the  river-bank,  to  avoid  the  shot  and  shell,  were 
thousands  of  fugitives,  who  had  become  disheartened, 
and  who  had  left  their  comrades  to  be  overpowered 
and  driven  back.  He  saw  the  situation  of  affairs  in 
an  instant.  His  brain  was  clear.  He  made  up  his 
mind  instantly  what  to  do. 

"  Here,  you  —  men  ! "  he  shouted.  "  Each  of  you 
shoulder  one  of  those  empty  pork-barrels,  and  carry 
it  up  the  bluff."  But  not  a  man  stirred.  His  indig- 
nation was  aroused ;  but  he  knew  that  it  was  not  a 
time  for  argument.  He  drew  his  revolver,  pointed 
it  at  a  group,  and  said,  "  Start !  or  I  '11  shoot  you." 
It  was  spoken  so  resolutely  that  they  obeyed.  He 
told  them  how,  if  they  could  hold  that  position,  the 
Rebels  would  be  defeated,  —  how  a  few  minutes  of 
resolute  work  would  save  the  army.  He  saw  their 
courage  revive.  They  dug  a  trench,  cut  down  trees, 


Showing  what  he  was  made  of.         195 

rolled  up  logs,  filled  the  barrels  with  dirt,  and  worked 
like  beavers.  Others  wheeled  up  the  great  guns,  and 
Paul  put  them  into  position.  Others  brought  shot 
and  shell,  and  laid  them  in  piles  beside  the  guns. 
The  storm  was  coming  nearer.  The  lines  were  giv- 
ing way.  Regiments  with  broken  ranks  came  strag- 
gling down  the  road. 

"Bring  all  the  batteries  into  position  along  the 
ravine,"  said  General  Grant.  Away  flew  half  a 
dozen  officers  with  the  orders,  and  the  batteries,  one 
after  another,  came  thundering  down  the  road,  —  the 
horses  leaping,  the  artillery-men  blackened  and  be- 
grimed, yet  ready  for  another  fight. 

"Get  anybody  you  can  to  work  the  thirty-twos," 
said  Colonel  Webster,  the  chief  of  artillery,  to  Paul. 

"  I  can  sight  a  cannon,"  said  a  surgeon,  who  was 
dressing  wounds  in  the  hospital.  He  laid  down  his 
bandages,  went  up  and  patted  one  of  the  guns,  as 
if  it  were  an  old  friend,  ran  his  eye  along  the  sights, 
and  told  the  gunners  what  to  do. 

It  was  sunset.  All  day  long  the  battle  had  raged, 
and  the  Union  troops  had  been  driven.  The  Reb- 
els were  ready  for  their  last  grand  charge,  which 
they  hoped  would  give  them  the  victory.  Onward 


196  Winning  his    Way. 

they  came  down  the  steep  bank  opposite,  into  the 
ravine.  The  Union  batteries  were  ready  for  them, 
—  Captain  Silversparre  with  his  twenty-pounders, 
Captain  Richardson  and  Captain  Russell  with  theii 
howitzers,  Captain  Stone  with  his  ten-pounders,  Cap- 
tain Taylor,  Captain  Dresser,  Captain  Willard,  and 
Lieutenant  Edwards,  —  sixty  or  more  cannon  in  all. 
A  gunner  was  lacking  for  one  of  the  great  iron 
thirty-twos.  Paul  sprang  from  his  horse,  and  took 
command  of  the  piece. 

The  long  lines  of  the  Rebels  came  into  view. 
"Bang!  bang!  bang!  bang!"  went  the  guns.  Then 
half  a  dozen  crashed  at  once,  —  the  great  thirty- 
twos  thundering  heavier  than  all  the  others.  Shells, 
solid  shot,  and  canister  tore  through  the  ravine, 
rolling  back  the  Rebel  lines,  drenching  the  hillsides 
with  blood,  turning  the  brook  to  crimson,  and  the 
fresh  young  leaves  to  scarlet.  O  the  wild  commo- 
tion, —  the  jarring  of  the  earth,  the  deep  reverbera- 
tions rolling  far  away,  and  the  shouts  of  the  cannon- 
eers! 

"  Give  them  canister ! "  shouted  Paul  to  the  can- 
noneers, and  the  terrible  missiles  went  screaming 
down  the  ravine.  The  bullets  were  falling  around 


Showing  what  he  was  made  of.         197 

him,  singing  in  his  ears,  but  he  heeded  them  not. 
But  O  how  painful  it  was  to  see  a  brother  officer 
torn  to  pieces  by  his  side !  Then  how  glorious  to 
behold,  through  the  rifts  in  the  battle-cloud,  that  the 
Rebels  were  flying  in  confusion  through  the  woods 
Then  there  came  a  cheer.  General  Nelson  had  ar- 
rived with  reinforcements,  and  Buell's  whole  army 
was  near.  The  thirty- two-pounders,  the  howitzers, 
and  the  batteries  had  saved  the  day,  and  the  victory 
was  won.  And  now,  as  night  came  on,  the  gun- 
boats joined,  throwing  eleven-inch  shells  into  the 
woods  among  the  Rebel  troops,  which  added  dis- 
comfiture to  defeat.  And  when  the  uproar,  the  noise, 
and  the  confusion  had  died  away,  how  good  to  thank 
God  for  the  victory,  and  for  the  preservation  of  his 
life!  Hc.v  gratifying  to  receive  the  thanks  of  his 
commander  on  the  field,  —  to  be  mentioned  as  one 
who  had  done  his  duty  faithfully,  and  who  was  deserv- 
ing of  promotion  ! 

After  the  battle  he  was  made  a  captain,  and  had 
greater  responsibilities  resting  upon  him.  He  was 
called  upon  to  take  long  rides,  with  the  cavalry,  on 
expeditions  into  the  enemy's  countiy.  Sometimes 
he  found  himself  alone  in  the  dark  woods  of  Missis 


198  Winning  his   Way. 

sippi,  threading  the  narrow  paths,  swimming  rivers, 
wading  creeks,  plunging  into  swamps,  —  at  other 
times,  with  his  comrades,  sweeping  like  a  whirlwind 
through  the  Southern  towns,  in  pursuit  of  the  retreat- 
ing foe,  riding  day  and  night,  often  without  food,  but 
occasionally  having  a  nice  supper  of  roast  chicken 
cooked  by  the  bivouac-fire  in  the  forest.  Sometimes 
he  spread  his  blanket  beneath  the  grand  old  trees, 
and  had  a  rest  for  the  night ;  and  often,  when  pur- 
sued by  the  enemy,  when  there  was  no  time  to  stop 
and  rest,  he  slept  in  his  saddle,  and  dreamed  of 
home.  So  he  spent  the  months  which  followed  that 
terrible  battle,  obtaining  information  which  was  of 
inestimable  value.  Thus  he  served  his  country, — 
at  Corinth,  at  Memphis,  and  at  Vicksburg,  where, 
through  the  long,  hot,  weary,  sickly  months,  the 
brave  soldiers  toiled,  building  roads,  cutting  trenches, 
digging  ditches,  excavating  canals,  clearing  forests, 
erecting  batteries,  working  in  mud  and  water,  fight- 
ing on  the  Yazoo,  and  at  last,  under  their  great 
leader,  sweeping  down  the  west  side  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, crossing  the  river,  defeating  the  enemy  in  all 
the  battles  which  followed,  then  closing  in  upon 
the  town  and  capturing  it,  after  months  of  hardship 


SJwwing  what  he  was  made  of.         199 

and  suffering.     How  hard  this  work  I  how  laborious, 
and  wearing,  and  dangerous ! 

Paul  found  little  time  to  rest.  It  was  his  duty  to 
lay  out  the  work  for  the  soldiers,  to  say  where  the 
breastworks  should  be  thrown  up,  where  the  guns 
should  be  placed  in  position.  In  the  dark  nights 
he  went  out  beyond  the  picket-lines  and  examined 
the  hills  and  ravines,  while  the  bullets  of  the  Rebel 
sharpshooters  were  flying  about  his  ears,  and  in  the 
daytime  he  was  riding  along  the  lines  while  the  great 
guns  were  bellowing,  to  see  if  they  were  in  the  best 
position,  and  were  doing  their  proper  work.  At 
length  there  came  a  morning  when  the  Rebels  raised 
a  white  flag,  and  Vicksburg  surrendered.  It  was 
the  glorious  reward  for  all  their  hardship,  toil,  suf- 
fering, and  endurance.  How  proudly  the  soldiers 
marched  into  the  city,  with  drums  beating,  bands 
playing,  and  all  their  banners  waving!  It  was  the 
Fourth  of  July,  the  most  joyful  day  of  all  the  year. 
There  were  glad  hearts  all  over  the  land,  —  ringing 
of  bells  and  firing  of  cannon,  songs  of  praise  and 
thanksgivings ;  for  not  only  at  Vicksburg,  but  at  Get- 
tysburg, the  soldiers  of  the  Union  had  won  a  great 
victory. 


too  Winning  his  Way. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

HONOR    TO    THE    BRAVE. 

PAUL'S  mother  lived  alone,  and  yet  she  was  not 
without  company ;  for  the  bees  and  the  hum- 
ming-birds buzzing  among  the  flowers,  the  old  clock 
ticking  steadily,  the  cat  purring  in  the  sunshine,  were 
her  constant  friends  through  the  long  summer  days. 
And  every  morning  Azalia  came  in  and  read  the 
news.  Pleasant  the  sound  of  her  approaching  step  1 
Ever  welcome  her  appearance  !  Winsome  her  smile  ! 
How  beautiful  upon  her  cheek  the  deepening  bloom 
of  a  guileless  heart ! 

11  Good  news ! "  she  exclaimed  one  morning,  as 
she  entered,  with  glowing  countenance  and  sparkling 
eyes,  tossing  aside  her  hat. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  Mrs.  Parker  asked. 

Azalia  replied  by  opening  a  newspaper,  and  read- 
ing that  "  Captain  Paul  Parker,  who  had  been  acting 
as  major,  was  promoted  to  be  a  colonel  for  merito- 
rious and  distinguished  services  at  Vicksburg." 

"  I  am  glad  he  has  served  his  country  so  faithfully," 


Honor  to  the  Brave.  201 

said  Mrs  Parker,  pleased  and  gratified,  and  proud 
of  her  son. 

"  Who  knows  but  that  he  may  be  a  general  yet  ? " 
s>aid  Azalia,  triumphantly.  "We  are  going  to  have 
a  jubilee  this  afternoon  over  the  victories,"  she  added. 
She  could  stop  no  longer,  for  she  was  to  take  part 
in  the  jubilee  with  Daphne,  and  hastened  away  to 
prepare  for  the  occasion. 

All  New  Hope  turned  out  to  rejoice  over  the  glori- 
ous news.  Farmers  came  with  their  wagons  loaded 
with  things  for  the  soldiers, — bottles  of  wine,  jars 
of  jellies  and  preserves,  for  there  were  thousands 
of  wounded  in  the  hospitals.  Those  who  could  not 
contribute  such  things  were  ready  to  give  money, 
for  their  hearts  were  overflowing  with  gratitude.  Old 
men  came,  leaning  on  their  staves  or  supported  by 
their  children,  with  the  fires  of  youth  rekindling  in 
their  souls.  Mothers  were  there,  for  they  had  sons 
in  the  service.  Paul  was  not  the  only  soldier  who 
had  gone  from  New  Hope.  A  score  had  enlisted. 
Old  folks,  young  folks,  all  the  people  of  the  place 
were  there,  in  the  old  church. 

The  evening  train  came  thundering  along  the  rail- 
road, stopping  long  enough  to  leave  Paul,  who  had 


2O2  Winning  his  Way. 

unexpectedly  been  ordered  to  duty  in  Tennessee  with 
General  Rosecrans.  He  was  granted  a  week's  leave 
of  absence.  There  was  no  one  at  the  depot.  He 
wondered  at  the  silence  in  the  streets.  Houses  and 
stores  and  shops  were  all  closed.  He  passed  up  the 
hill  to  his  old  home  ;  but  his  mother  was  not  there, 
and  the  door  was  fast.  The  cat  was  lying  upon  the 
step,  and  purred  him  a  welcome.  The  bees  were 
humming  over  the  flower-beds,  and  the  swallows 
twittered  merrily  upon  the  roof  of  the  house.  The 
remembrance  of  his  boyhood  came  back,  and  he  was 
a  child  again  amid  the  flowers. 

He  noticed  that  the  people  were  around  the 
church,  and  passed  on  to  see  what  had  called  them 
together. 

"Why,  that  is  Paul  Parker,  as  true  as  I  am 
alive ! "  said  Mr.  Chrome,  as  he  approached  the 
church. 

The  little  boys  caught  it  up,  and  cried,  "  Paul  has 
come !  Paul  has  come ! "  and  looked  wonderingly  at 
his  blue  uniform,  and  the  eagle  on  his  shoulders.  It 
was  buzzed  through  the  church  that  he  had  come. 
Judge  Adams,  who  was  on  the  platform,  and  who 
was  chairman  of  the  meeting,  said  :  "  It  giver  me 


Honor  to  the  Brave.  203 

great  pleasure  to  announce  the  arrival  of  our  esteemed 
fellow-citizen,  Colonel  Parker,  who  has  so  nobly  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  the  service  of  our  country." 

"Three  cheers  for  Colonel  Parker!"  shouted  Mr. 
Chrome,  and  the  people,  glad  to  see  him,  and  brim- 
ming over  with  joy  for  the  victories,  sprang  to  their 
feet  and  hurrahed  and  stamped  till  the  windows  rat- 
tled. Judge  Adams  welcomed  him  to  the  platform, 
and  Father  Surplice,  Colonel  Dare,  and  Esquire 
Capias  rose  and  shook  hands  with  him.  Esquire  Ca- 
pias was  making  a  speech  when  Paul  entered  ;  but 
he  left  off  suddenly,  saying  :  "  I  know  that  you  want 
to  hear  from  Colonel  Parker,  and  it  will  give  me 
greater  pleasure  to  listen  to  him  than  to  talk  myself." 

Then  there  were  cries  for  Paul. 

"  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  introduce  Colonel 
Parker  on  this  occasion,"  said  Judge  Adams.  "  He 
is  our  fellow-citizen  ;  this  is  his  home.  He  has  hon- 
ored himself  and  us.  We  have  been  trying  to  be 
eloquent  over  the  great  victories ;  but  the  eloquence 
of  speech  is  very  poor  when  compared  with  the  elo- 
quence of  action."  Then  turning  to  Paul,  he  said : 
"What  you  and  your  comrades  have  done,  Sir,  will 
be  remembered  through  all  coming  time," 


2O4  Winning  his  Way. 

"We  tried  to  do  our  duty,  and  God  gave  us  the 
victory,'*  said  Paul.  He  stood  before  them  taller 
and  stouter  than  when  he  went  away.  He  was  sun- 
burnt ;  but  his  countenance  was  noble  and  manly, 
and  marked  with  self-reliance.  He  never  had  made 
a  speech.  He  did  not  know  what  to  say.  To  stand 
there  facing  the  audience,  with  his  mother,  Azalia, 
Daphne,  and  all  his  old  friends  before  him,  was  very 
embarrassing.  It  was  worse  than  meeting  the  Rebels 
in  battle.  But  why  should  he  be  afraid  ?  They  were 
all  his  friends,  and  would  respect  him  if  he  did  the 
best  he  could.  He  would  not  try  to  be  eloquent. 
He  would  simply  tell  them  the  story  of  the  battles ; 
how  the  soldiers  had  marched,  and  toiled,  and  fought, 
—  not  for  glory,  honor,  or  fame,  but  because  they 
were  true  patriots ;  how  he  had  seen  them  resign 
themselves  to  death  as  calmly  as  to  a  night's  repose, 
thinking  and  talking  of  friends  far  away,  of  father, 
mother,  brothers  and  sisters,  their  pleasant  homes, 
and  the  dear  old  scenes,  yet  never  uttering  a  regret 
that  they  had  enlisted  to  save  their  country. 

There  were  moist  eyes  when  he  said  that ;  but 
when  he  told  them  of  the  charge  at  Fort  Donelson, 
— how  the  troops  marched  through  the  snow  in 


Honor  to  the  Brave.  205 

long,  unbroken  lines,  and  with  a  hurrah  went  up  the 
hill,  over  fallen  trees,  and  drove  the  Rebels  from 
their  breastworks,  —  the  men  swung  their  hats,  and 
shouted,  and  the  women  waved  their  handkerchiefs, 
and  cheered  as  if  crazy  with  enthusiasm. 

Then  Azalia  and  Daphne  sung  the  Star-spangled 
Banner,  the  congregation  joining  in  the  chorus.  Un- 
der the  excitement  of  the  moment,  Judge  Adams 
called  for  contributions  for  the  soldiers,  and  the  old 
farmers  took  out  their  pocket-books.  Those  who 
had  made  up  their  minds  to  give  five  dollars  gave 
ten,  while  Mr.  Middlekauf,  Hans's  father,  who  thought 
he  would  give  twenty-five,  put  fifty  into  the  hat. 

When  the  meeting  was  over,  Paul  stepped  down 
irom  the  platform,  threw  his  arms  around  his  moth- 
er's neck  and  kissed  her,  and  heard  her  whisper, 
"God  bless  )'ou,  Paul."  Then  the  people  came  to 
shake  hands  with  him.  Even  Miss  Dobb  came  up, 
all  smiles,  shaking  her  curls,  holding  out  her  bony 
hand,  and  saying,  "I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Colonel 
Parker.  You  know  that  I  was  your  old  teacher.  I 
really  feel  proud  to  know  that  you  have  acqu-ued 
yourself  so  well.  I  shall  claim  part  of  the  honor. 
You  must  come  and  take  tea  with  me,  and  te!i  me 
all  about  the  battles,"  she  said. 


206  Winning  his   Way. 

"  My  leave  of  absence  is  short.  I  shall  not  have 
time  to  make  many  visits ;  but  it  will  give  me  great 
pleasure  to  call  upon  those  who  have  always  been 
my  friends,"  said  Paul,  with  a  look  so  searching  that 
it  brought  the  blood  into  her  faded  cheeks. 

Hearty  the  welcome  from  Azalia  and  Daphne,  and 
from  those  who  had  been  his  scholars,  who  listened 
with  eager  interest  to  the  words  which  fell  from  his 
lips.  Golden  the  days  and  blissful  those  few  hours 
spent  with  his  mother,  sitting  by  her  side  in  the  old 
kitchen  ;  with  Daphne  and  Azalia,  singing  the  old 
songs ;  with  Azalia  alone,  stealing  down  the  shaded 
walk  in  the  calm  moonlight,  talking  of  the  changeful 
past,  and  looking  into  the  dreamy  future,  the  whip- 
poorwills  and  plovers  piping  to  them  from  the  clover- 
fields,  the  crickets  chirping  them  a  cheerful  wel- 
come, and  the  river  saluting  them  with  its  ceaseless 
serenade  1 


Chickamauga.  207 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

CHICKAMAUGA. 

QUICK  the  changes.     Paul  was  once  more  witl 
the  army,  amid  the  mountains  of  Tennessee, 
marching  upon  Chattanooga  with  General  Rosecrans, 
tramping   over  Lookout  Mountain,    and   along    the 
Chickamauga. 

Then  came  a  day  of  disaster  in  September.  A 
great  battle  began  on  Saturday  morning,  lasted 
through  Sunday,  and  closed  on  Monday.  Paul  rode 
courageously  where  duty  called  him,  through  the 
dark  woods,  along  the  winding  river,  where  the  bul- 
lets sang,  where  the  shells  burst,  where  hundreds  of 
brave  men  fell.  Terrible  the  contest.  It  was  like 
a  thunder-storm  among  the  mountains,  —  like  the 
growling  of  the  angry  surf  upon  the  shore  of  the 
ocean.  How  trying,  after  hours  of  hard  fighting,  to 
see  the  lines  waver  and  behold  the  Rebels  move 
victoriously  over  the  field!  with  disaster  setting  in, 
and  to  know  that  all  that  is  worth  living  for  is  tiem- 
bling  in  the  scale  1 


208  Winning  his   Way. 

There  are  such  moments  in  battle.  General  Rose- 
crans's  army  was  outnumbered.  Paul  saw  the  Reb- 
els driving  in  the  centre  and  turning  the  left  flank 
to  cut  off  all  retreat  to  Chattanooga.  The  moment 
for  great,  heroic  action  had  come.  He  felt  the 
blood  leap  through  his  veins  as  it  never  had 
leaped  before.  The  Rebel  line  was  advancing  up 
the  hill.  The  Union  batteries  were  making  ready 
to  leave. 

"  Stay  where  you  are ! "  he  shouted.  "  Give  them 
canister!  Double  shot  the  guns!  Quick!  One 
minute  now  is  worth  a  thousand  hours." 

"Rally!  rally!  Don't  let  them  have  the  guns!" 
he  shouted  to  the  flying  troops.  They  were  magic 
words.  Men  who  had  started  to  run  came  back. 
Those  who  were  about  to  leave  stood  in  their  places, 
ready  to  die  where  they  were.  Five  minutes  passed  j 
they  seemed  ages.  On  —  nearer  —  up  to  the  muz- 
zles of  the  guns  came  the  Rebels ;  then,  losing 
heart,  fled  down  the  hill,  where  hundreds  of  their 
comrades  lay  dying  and  dead.  Their  efforts  to  break 
the  line  had  failed.  But  once  more  they  advanced 
in  stronger  force,  rushing  up  the  hill.  Fearful  the 
din  and  strife,  the  shouts  and  yells,  the  clashing  of 


Chickamauga.  209 

sabres  and  bayonets,  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  the 
explosion  of  shells.  Paul  found  himself  suddenly 
falling,  then  all  was  dark. 

When  he  came  to  himself  the  scene  had  changed. 
He  was  lying  upon  the  ground.  A  soldier,  wearing 
a  dirty  gray  jacket,  and  with  long  hair,  was  pulling 
off  his  boots,  saying,  "  This  Yankee  has  got  a  pair 
of  boots  worth  having." 

"Hold  on!  what  are  you  up  to?"   said  Paul. 

" Hullo  1  blue  bellie,  ye  are  alive,  are  ye?  Tho't 
yer  was  dead.  Reckon  I  '11  take  yer  boots,  and  yer 
coat  tew." 

Paul  saw  how  it  was :  he  was  wounded,  and  left 
on  the  field.  He  was  in  the  haifas  of  the  Rebels; 
but  hardest  to  bear  was  the  thought  that  the  army 
had  been  defeated.  He  was  stiff  and  sore.  The 
blood  was  oozing  from  a  wound  in  his  side.  He  was 
burning  up  with  fever.  He  asked  the  Rebels  who 
were  around  him  for  a  drink  of  water;  but,  instead 
df  moistening  his  parched  lips,  one  pointed  his  gun 
at  him  and  threatened  to  blow  out  his.  brains. 
They  stripped  off  his  coat  and  picked  his  pockets. 
Around  him  were  hundreds  of  dead  men.  The  day 
wore  away  and  the  night  came  on.  He  opened  his 

M 


2io  Winning  his   Way. 

lips  to  drink  the  falling  dew,  and  lay  with  his  face 
towards  the  stars.  He  thought  of  his  mother,  of 
home,  of  Azalia,  of  the  angels  and  God.  Many 
times  he  had  thought  how  sad  it  must  be  to  die 
alone  upon  the  battle-field,  far  from  friends ;  but  now 
he  remembered  the  words  of  Jesus  Christ :  "  I  will 
not  leave  you  comfortless.  My  peace  I  give  unto 
you."  Heaven  seemed  near,  and  he  felt  that  the 
angels  were  not  far  away.  He  had  tried  to  do  his 
duty.  He  believed  that,  whether  living  or  dying, 
God  would  take  care  of  him,  and  of  his  mother. 
In  his  soul  there  was  sweet  peace  and  composure ; 
but  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  strange  feeling 
creeping  over  hint,  the  numbness  of  his  hands,  the 
fluttering  of  his  heart?  Was  it  not  the  coming  on 
of  death  ?  He  remembered  the  prayer  of  his  child- 
hood, lisped  many  a  time  while  kneeling  by  his  moth- 
er's side,  and  repeated  it  once  more. 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keepj 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

The  stars  were  fading.  His  senses  reeled.  His 
eyelids  closed,  and  he  lay  pale,  cold,  and  motion 
less,  among  the  dead. 


How  he  lived  in  the  Memory  of  his  Friends.  2  1  1 
CHAPTER    XVIII. 

HOW   HE   LIVED    IN   THE   MEMORY  OF   HIS   FRIENDS. 


PARKER,  mortally  wounded  and 
left  on  the  field."  So  read  the  account  of 
the  battle  in  the  newspapers,  —  which  told  of  the 
disaster  to  the  army,  —  how  the  lines  were  broken, 
how  the  cannon  were  lost,  how  Paul  was  shot  through 
the  breast,  how,  had  it  not  been  for  General  Thomas, 
it  would  have  been  a  day  of  utter  ruin.  Father  Sur- 
plice went  up  to  the  little  old  house  to  break  the 
sad  tidings  to  Paul's  mother,  for  he  could  best  give 
comfort  and  consolation  in  time  of  affliction. 

"  I  have  sad  news,"  he  said.  She  saw  it  in  his 
face,  even  before  he  spoke,  and  knew  that  some- 
thing terrible  had  happened.  "A  great  battle  has 
been  fought,  and  God  has  seen  fit  that  your  son 
should  die  for  his  country." 

She  made  no  outcry,  but  the  tears  glistened  in 
her  eyes.  She  wiped  them  away,  and  calmly  re- 
plied :  "  I  gave  him  freely  to  the  country  and  to 
God.  I  know  that  he  was  a  dutiful,  affectionate  son. 


212  Winning  his   Way. 

I  am  not  sorry  that  I  let  him  go."  Then  with 
clasped  hands  she  looked  upward,  through  her  blind- 
ing tears,  and  thanked  God  that  Paul  had  been  faith- 
ful, honest,  true,  and  good. 

The  neighbors  came  in  to  comfort  her,  but  were 
surprised  to  find  her  so  calm,  and  to  hear  her  say, 
"It  is  well." 

It  was  a  gloomy  day  in  New  Hope,  —  in  the  stores 
and  shops,  and  in  the  school-house,  for  the  children 
affectionately  remembered  their  old  teacher.  When 
the  sexton  tolled  the  bell,  they  bowed  their  heads 
and  wept  bitter  tears.  Mr.  Chrome  laid  down  his 
paint-brush  and  sat  with  folded  hands,  saying,  "I 
can't  work."  Colonel  Dare  dashed  a  tear  from  his 
eye,  and  said,  "So  slavery  takes  our  noblest  and 
best"  He  walked  down  to  the  little  old  house  and 
said  to  Mrs.  Parker,  "You  never  shall  want  while 
1  have  a  cent  left."  Judge  Adams  came,  and  with 
much  emotion  asked,  "What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want. 
lie  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures,  he 
leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters,"  she  replied,  so 
calmly  that  the  Judge  felt  that  she  was  the  strong 
one  and  he  the  weak. 


How  he  lived  in  the  Memory  of  his  Friends.  2 1 3 

When  Azalia  heard  the  news  the  rose-bloom  faded 
from  her  cheeks  and  her  heart  stood  still.  In  imag- 
ination she  saw  Paul  lying  on  the  ground,  with  blood 
flowing  from  his  side,  enduring  dreadful  agony,  while 
waiting  the  coming  of  death.  She  could  hardly  think 
of  him  as  gone,  never  to  return,  yet  the  church-bell 
was  tolling  mournfully,  gone,  gone,  gone !  She 
clasped  her  hands  upon  her  heart  to  keep  it  from 
bursting. 

"  Be  comforted,  my  child.  He  has  gone  to  a  bet- 
ter world  than  this,"  said  her  mother,  sympathizing 
in  her  sorrow. 

Daphne  came  in,  and  bathed  Azalia's  burning 
brow,  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  said,  "Don't  cry, 
dear." 

Azalia  was  not  weeping,  —  there  were  no  tears 
in  her  eyes.  God  had  not  wiped  them  all  away, 
but  the  great  and  sudden  affliction  was  like  the  heat 
of  a  fiery  furnace.  It  had  dried  the  fountains.  Though 
her  mother  and  Daphne  were  so  kind  and  tender, 
they  could  not  take  away  her  heart-ache.  It  was 
a  weary  day.  She  sat  by  the  window  and  gazed 
upon  the  wheat-fields,  brown  and  bare,  for  it  was 
almost  October,  and  the  reapers  had  gathered  the 


214  Winning  his   Way. 

grain.  Beyond  the  fields  was  the  river,  shrunk  to 
a  narrow  bed  by  the  heats  of  summer.  Dead  leaves 
were  floating  down  the  stream.  Like  the  Miserere 
which  the  choir  chanted  at  the  funeral  of  a  sweet 
young  girl  before  Paul  went  to  the  army,  was  the 
murmuring  of  the  water.  Beyond  the  river  were 
green  meadows  and  gardens  and  orchards,  where  dah- 
lias were  blooming,  and  grapes  and  apples  ripening 
in  the  mellow  sunshine.  She  thought  of  Paul  as 
having  passed  over  the  river,  and  as  walking  in  the 
vineyard  of  the  Lord.  The  summer  flowers  which 
she  had  planted  in  her  own  garden  were  faded,  the 
stalks  were  dry,  and  the  leaves  withered.  They  never 
would  bloom  again.  Like  them,  the  brightness  of 
her  life  had  passed  away. 

Night  brought  no  relief.  It  seemed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break,  but  she  remembered  what  Jesus  said: 
"  Come  unto  me  and  I  will  give  you  rest."  She  told 
Him  all  her  grief,  asked  Him  to  help  her,  inasmuch 
as  He  was  able  to  bear  the  sorrows  of  all  the  world. 
So  confiding  in  Him,  she  experienced  indescribable 
peace  of  mind. 

Then  in  the  evening  they  who  walked  along  the 
street  stopped  and  listened  by  the  gate  to  hear  the 


How  he  lived  in  the  Memory  of  his  Friends.  2 1 5 

« 

music  which  floated  out  through  the  open  window, 
bowing  their  heads,  and  in  silence  wiping  away  their 
tears.  It  was  the  music  of  the  "Messiah,"  which 
Handel  composed.  She  sung  it  in  church  one  Sun- 
day before  Paul  went  to  the  army,  and  Father  Sur- 
plice said  it  set  him  to  thinking  about  the  music  of 
heaven ;  but  now  to  the  passers  in  the  street  it  was 
as  if  Jesus  called  them,  so  sweet  and  tender  was  the 
song. 

It  was  consoling  to  take  from  her  bureau  the  let- 
ters which  Paul  had  written,  and  read  again  what 
she  had  read  many  times,  —  to  look  upon  the  laurel- 
leaf  which  he  plucked  in  the  woods  at  Donelson,  the 
locust-blossoms  which  he  gathered  at  Shiloh,  the 
moss-rose  which  grew  in  a  garden  at  Vicksburg, — 
to  read  his  noble  and  manly  words  of  his  determina- 
tion to  do  his  duty  in  all  things. 

"  Life  is  worth  nothing,"  read  one  of  the  letters, 
"unless  devoted  to  noble  ends.  I  thank  God  that 
I  live  in  this  age,  for  there  never  has  been  so  great 
an  opportunity  to  do  good.  The  heroes  of  all  ages, 
those  who  have  toiled  and  suffered  to  make  the  world 
better,  are  looking  down  from  the  past  to  see  if  I  am 
worthy  to  be  of  their  number.  I  can  see  the  millions 


216  Winning  his   Way. 

yet  to  come  beckoning  me  to  do  my  duty  for  their 
sake.  They  will  judge  me.  What  answer  can  I  give 
them  if  I  falter?" 

Thus  in  her  sorrow  Azalia  found  some  comfort  in 
looking  at  the  faded  flowers,  and  in  reflecting  that 
he  had  not  faltered  in  the  hour  of  trial,  but  had 
proved  himself  worthy  to  be  numbered  with  the  heroic 
dead. 


What  became  of  a  Traitor*  217 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

WHAT    BECAME   OF    A    TRAITOR. 

BUT  Paul  was  not  dead.  He  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  enemy.  He  had  been  taken  up  from 
the  battle-field  while  unconscious,  put  into  an  am- 
bulance, and  carried  with  other  wounded  to  a  Rebel 
hospital. 

"We  can't  do  anything  for  this  Yankee,"  said 
one  of  the  surgeons  who  looked  at  his  wound. 

"  No,  he  will  pop  off  right  soon,  I  reckon,"  said 
another ;  and  Paul  was  left  to  live  or  die,  as  it 
might  be. 

When  he  awoke  from  his  stupor  he  found  himself 
in  an  old  barn,  lying  on  a  pile  of  straw.  He  was 
weak  and  faint,  and  suffered  excruciati^  pain.  The 
Rebel  soldier  had  stolen  his  coat,  ancl  he  had  no 
blanket  to  protect  him  from  the  cold  night-winds. 
He  was  helpless.  His  flesh  was  hot,  his  lips  were 
parched.  A  fever  set  in,  his  flesh  wasted  away, 
and  his  eyes  became  wild,  glassy,  and  sunken.  Week 
after  week  he  lay  powerless  to  help  himself,  often 
10 


218  Winning  his  Way. 

out  of  his  head  and  talking  of  home,  or  imagining 
he  was  in  battle.  How  long  the  days !  how  lonesome 
the  nights !  But  he  had  a  strong  constitution,  and 
instead  of  "  popping  off,"  as  the  surgeon  predicted, 
began  to^  get  well.  Months  passed,  of  pain  and 
agony  and  weary  longing.  It  was  sweet  relief  when 
he  was  able  to  creep  out  and  sit  in  the  warm 
sunshine. 

One  day  a  Rebel  lieutenant,  wearing  a  gay  uniform 
trimmed  with  gold  lace,  came  past  him.  Paul  saw 
that  he  had  been  drinking  liquor,  for  he  could  not 
walk  straight. 

"  Why  don't  you  salute  me,  you  Yankee  villain  ? " 
said  the  fellow,  stopping. 

Paul  was  startled  at  the  voice,  looked  the  "ieuten- 
ant  in  the  face,  and  saw  that  it  was  Philip  Funk, 
His  face  was  bloated,  and  his  eyes  bloodshot.  When 
he  fled  from  New  Hope  after  robbing  Mr.  Bond, 
he  made  his  way  south,  joined  the  Rebels,  and  was 
now  a  lieutenant.  Paul  was  So  changed  by  sickness 
that  Philip  did  not  recognize  him. 

"  Why  don't  you  salute  me,  you  dirty  Yankee 
puppy?"  said  Philip,  with  an  oath. 

"  I  don't  salute  a  traitor  and  a  robber,"  said  Paul 


What  became  of  a  Traitor.  219 

Philip  turned  pale  with  anger.  "  Say  that  again, 
and  I  will  cut  your  heart  out ! "  he  said,  with  a  hor- 
rible oath,  raising  his  sword  and  advancing  upon 
Paul,  who  stood  still  and  looked  him  calmly  in  the 
eye. 

"  Cowards  only  attack  unarmed  men,"  said  Paul. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  calling  me  a  robber, 
traitor,  and  coward  ? "  Philip  asked,  white  with  rage, 
not  recognizing  Paul. 

"  I  mean  that  you,  Philip  Funk,  committed  rob- 
bery at  New  Hope,  ran  away  from  home,  became 
a  traitor,  and  now  you  show  yourself  to  be  a  cow- 
ard by  threatening  to  cut  out  the  heart  of  a  weak 
defenceless  prisoner." 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  stammered  Philip. 

"  My  name  is  Paul  Parker.  I  am  a  colonel  in 
the  service  of  the  United  States,"  Paul  replied,  not 
recognizing  by  any  familiar  act  his  old  playmate 
and  school-fellow. 

Philip  dropped  his  sword,  and  stood  irresolute  ancj 
undecided  what  to  do.  A  group  of  Rebel  officers 
who  had  been  wounded,  and  were  strolling  about  the 
grounds,  saw  and  heard  it  all.  One  was  a  colonel 

"What  do  you  know  about  Lieutenant  Funk?" 
he  asked. 


22O  Winning  his  Way. 

"  He  was  my  schoolmate.  He  committed  robbery 
and  came  south  to  join  your  army,"  Paul  replied. 

The  Colonel  turned  to  the  officers  who  were  with 
him,  and  said,  "  This  is  the  fellow  who  is  suspected 
of  stealing  from  the  soldiers,  and  it  is  said  that  he 
skulked  at  Chickamauga." 

"  The  cuss  ought  to  be  reduced  to  the  ranks,"  said 
another. 

Philip  did  not  stop  to  hear  any  more,  but  walked 
rapidly  away. 

The  next  day  he  was  arrested  and  brought  before 
a  court-martial,  tried,  and  found  guilty  of  hiding 
behind  a  stump  when  ordered  to  make  a  chaige  in 
battle,  and  of  stealing  money  from  the  soldiers.  The 
court  ordered  that  he  be  stripped  of  his  uniform 
and  reduced  to  the  ranks,  and  wear  the  "rogue's 
coat"  through  the  camp.  The  coat  was  a  flour- 
barrel,  without  heads,  but  with  holes  cut  in  the  sides 
for  his  arms. 

Philip  was  brought  out  upon  the  parade-ground, 
deprived  of  his  sword  and  uniform,  and  compelled 
to  put  on  the  barrel,  on  which  were  written  the 
words, 

COWARD,  ROBBER. 


WJiat  became  of  a  Traitor.  221 

Thus,  with  two  soldiers  to  guard  him,  with  a  drum- 
mer and  fifer  playing  the  Rogues'  March,  he  was 
paraded  through  the  camp.  The  soldiers  hooted  at 
him,  and  asked  him  all  sorts  of  questions. 

"  How  are  you,  Bummer  ? "  asked  one. 

"Did  you  pay  your  tailors  with  the  money  you 
stole?"  asked  another. 

"Your  coat  puckers  under  the  arms  and  wrinkles 
in  the  back,"  said  another. 

"  He  felt  so  big  they  had  to  hoop  him  to  keep 
him  from  bursting,"  remarked  one,  who  remembered 
how  pompous  Philip  had  been. 

After  being  marched  through  the  camp,  he  was  set 
to  work  with  a  shovel,  cleaning  up  the  grounds.  It 
was  a  sorry  day  to  Philip.  He  wished  he  had  never 
been  born.  He  was  despised  alike  by  officers  and 
soldiers.  The  officers  made  him  do  their  dirty  work, 
while  the  soldiers,  knowing  that  he  had  not  courage 
enough  to  resent  an  insult,  made  him  the  general 
scavenger  of  the  camp.  This  treatment  was  so  hard 
to  bear  that  Philip  thought  of  deserting;  but  he 
knew  that  if  he  was  caught  he  would  be  shot,  and 
did  not  dare  to  make  the  attempt.  The  slaves  in 
the  camp  looked  down  upon  him,  and  spoke  of  him 


222  Winning  his   Way. 

as  the  "  meanest  sort  of  Yankee  white  trash."  The 
soldiers  turned  him  out  of  their  tents.  "We  won't 
have  a  Yankee  thief  and  coward  in  our  mess,"  said 
they,  and  he  was  obliged  to  sleep  under  the  trees, 
or  wherever  he  could  find  shelter.  He  became  dirty 
and  ragged.  His  clothes  dropped  from  him  piece 
by  piece,  till  he  had  nothing  left  but  rags.  He  had 
little  to  eat.  He  had  no  friends.  When  he  was 
sick,  no  one  cared  for  him.  Those  were  bitter  days ; 
but  instead  of  being  made  better  at  heart  by  his  pun- 
ishment, he  cursed  and  swore,  and  wished  only  that 
he  could  get  whiskey  to  drink. 

Winter  set  in.  There  came  a  cold,  stormy  night. 
Philip  wandered  about  the  camp  to  keep  himself 
warm.  He  was  weak  and  faint,  and  at  last,  tired, 
exhausted,  and  his  teeth  chattering  with  ague,  crawled 
into  a  wagon,  drew  his  old  tattered  blanket  over  his 
head,  and  after  shivering  awhile  went  to  sleep.  The 
teamsters  found  him  there  in  the  morning,  stiff  and 
cold.  He  had  died  during  the  night,  with  no  friend 
near  him,  a  vagabond,  an  outcast,  despised  by  ev- 
erybody. 

The  officer  who  had  charge  of  the  camp,  when  he 
heard  that  Philip  was  dead,  called  up  a  couple  of 


What  became  of  a  Traitor^  223 

soldiers  who  were  in  the  guard-house  for  getting 
drunk,  and  said  to  them,  "You  were  drunk  yester- 
day, and  for  a  punishment  I  sentence  you  to  bury 
the  camp-scullion  who  froze  to  death  last  night." 

The  teamster  harnessed  his  horses,  drove  outside 
of  the  camp  into  a  field,  where  the  two  soldiers  dug 
a  shallow  grave,  tumbled  the  body  into  it,  threw  back 
the  earth,  trampled  it  down  with  their  feet,  shoul 
dered  their  shovels,  and  went  back  to  camp  as  un 
concerned  as  if  they  had  buried  a  dog. 


224  Winning  his  Way. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

DARK    DAYS. 

WHEN  Paul's  wound  had  healed  sufficiently  to 
enable  him  to  travel,  he  was  put  into  a  freight 
car  with  his  comrades  and  sent  to  the  Rebel  prison 
at  Andersonville.  The  ride  was  long  and  hard,  but 
the  prisoners  bore  the  jolting  without  a  murmur,  for 
they  supposed  they  would  soon  be  exchanged  and 
sent  North.  They  were  doomed  to  bitter  disap- 
pointment 

The  prison  was  a  yard  enclosed  by  a  high  fence. 
There  was  a  platform  on  the  outside  where  the  sen- 
tinels stood  on  guard,  and  ready  to  shoot  any  one 
who  approached  nearer  than  what  they  called  "  the 
dead  line."  The  prisoners  had  no  shelter  from  the 
scorching  rays,  of  the  sun  through  the  long  summer 
days,  nor  -^m,  tr^e  sleety  rains  and  freezing  nights 
of  winter.  They  dug  holes  in  the  ground  with  their 
hands,  and  made  the  cold,  damp  earth  their  bed. 
A  slimy  brook  ran  through  the  grounds,  foul  with 
filth  from  the  camps  of  the  Rebels.  There  was  a 


Dark  Days.  225 

marsh  in  the  centre  of  the  yard,  full  of  rottenness, 
where  the  water  stood  in  green  and  stagnant  pools, 
breeding  flies,  mosquitos,  and  vermin,  where  all  the 
ooze  and  scum  and  slops  of  the  camp  came  to  the 
surface,  and  filled  the  air  with  horrible  smells.  They 
had  very  little  food,  —  nothing  but  a  half-pint  of 
coarse  corn-meal,  a  little  molasses,  and  a  mouthful 
of  tainted  bacon  and  salt,  during  each  twenty-four 
hours.  They  were  herded  like  sheep.  The  yard  was 
packed  with  them.  There  were  more  than  twenty 
thousand  in  a  place  designed  for  half  that  number. 
When  Paul  and  his  comrades  reached  the  prison, 
they  were  examined  by  the  officer  in  command,  a 
brutal  fellow  named  Wirz,  who  robbed  them  of  what 
money  they  had.  The  gate  opened,  and  they  passed 
in.  When  Paul  beheld  the  scene,  his  heart  sank 
within  him.  He  had  suffered  many  hardships,  but 
this  was  an  experience  beyond  everything  else.  He 
was  still  weak.  He  needed  nourishing  food,  but 
he  must  eat  the  corn-meal  or  starve.  Everywhere 
he  saw  only  sickening  sights,  —  pale,  woe-begone 
wretches,  clothed  in  filthy  rags,  covered  with  vermin. 
Some  were  picking  up  crumbs  of  bread  which  had 
been  swept  out  from  the  bakery.  Others  were  suck- 
io»  o 


226  Winning  his   Way. 

ing  the  bones  which  had  been  thrown  out  from  the 
cook-house.  Some  sat  gazing  into  vacancy,  taking 
no  notice  of  what  was  going  on  around  them,  — 
dreaming  of  homes  which  they  never  were  again  to 
behold.  Many  were  stretched  upon  the  ground,  too 
weak  to  sit  up,  from  whose  hearts  hope  had  died  out, 
and  who  were  waiting  calmly  for  death  to  come  and 
relieve  them  from  their  sufferings.  Thousands  had 
died.  One  hundred  died  on  the  day  Paul  entered, 
and  another  hundred  during  the  night.  All  day  long 
the  bodies  lay  among  the  living  in  the  sun.  When 
the  dead-cart  came  in,  they  were  thrown  into  it  like 
logs  of  wood.  It  was  a  horrible  sight,  —  the  stony 
eyes,  the  sunken  cheeks,  the  matted  hair,  the  ghastly 
countenances,  the  swaying  limbs,  as  the  cart  jolted 
along  the  uneven  ground  !  More  than  thirteen  thou- 
sand soldiers  starved  and  murdered  by  the  Rebels 
were  thus  carried  out  in  the  dead-carts. 

The  keepers  of  the  prison  were  cruel.  Paul  saw 
a  poor  cripple  crawl  towards  the  fence  and  reach 
his  hand  over  the  dead  line  to  get  a  bone.  Crack 
went  the  rifle  of  'the  sentinel,  which  sent  a  bullet 
through  the  prisoner's  brain,  who  tossed  up  his  hands, 
gave  one  heart-rending  outcry,  and  rolled  over  — 


Dark  Days.  227 

dead.  On  a  dark  and  stormy  night  some  of  the 
prisoners  escaped,  but  ferocious  dogs  were  put  upon 
their  track,  and  they  were  recaptured.  The  hounds 
mangled  them,  and  the  Rebel  officers  had  them  tied 
up  and  whipped,  till  death  put  an  end  to  their  suf- 
ferings. 

It  was  terrible  to  hear  the  coughing  of  those  who 
were  dying  of  consumption,  —  to  see  them  crawling 
from  place  to  place,  searching  in  vain  to  find  a  shelter 
from  the  driving  storms,  —  to  hear  the  piteous  cries 
of  those  who  were  racked  with  pains,  or  the  moans 
of  those  who  gave  themselves  up  to  despair.  For 
want  of  proper  food  the  prisoners  suffered  from  scur- 
vy ;  —  their  gums  rotted,  their  teeth  fell  out,  and 
their  flesh  turned  to  corruption ;  they  wasted  away, 
and  died  in  horrible  agony.  It  was  so  terrible  to 
hear  their  dying  cries,  that  Paul  put  his  fingers  in 
his  ears ;  but  soon  he  became  accustomed  to  the 
sights  and  sounds,  and  looked  upon  the  scenes  with 
indifference.  He  pitied  the  sufferers,  but  was  power- 
less to  aid  them.  Soon  he  found  that  his  own  spirits 
began  to  droop.  He  roused  himself,  determined  to 
brave  out  all  the  horrors  of  the  place.  He  sang 
songs  and  told  stories,  and  got  up  games  to  keep 


228  Winning  his   Way. 

his  fellow-prisoners  in  good  heart.  But  notwithstand- 
ing all  his  efforts  to  maintain  his  cheerfulness  and 
composure,  he  felt  that  he  was  growing  weaker.  In- 
stead of  being  robust,  he  became  thin  and  spare. 
His  cheeks  were  hollow  and  his  eyes  sunken.  There 
was  a  fever  in  his  bones.  Day  by  day  he  found  him- 
self taking  shorter  walks.  At  night,  when  he  curled 
down  in  £is  burrow,  he  felt  tired,  although  he  had 
done  no  work  through  the  day.  In  the  morning  he 
was  stiff,  and  sore,  and  lame,  and  although  the  ground 
was  cold  and  damp,  it  was  easier  to  lie  there  than 
to  get  up.  His  hair  became  matted,  —  his  fingers 
were  long  and  bony.  Each  day  his  clothes  became 
more  ragged.  When  he  first  entered  the  prison,  he 
tried  to  keep  himself  clean  and  free  from  vermin, 
but  in  vain.  One  day  he  went  out  to  wash  his  tat- 
tered clothes,  but  the  stream  was  so  dirty  he  sat  down 
and  waited  for  it  to  become  clear.  He  sat  hour  after 
hour,  but  it  was  always  the  same  slimy,  sickening 
stream. 

The  Rebels  took  delight  in  deluding  the  prisoners 
with  false  hopes,  —  telling  them  that  they  were  soon 
to  be  exchanged  and  sent  home ;  but  instead  of  re- 
lease, the  dead-cart  went  its  daily  rounds,  bearing 


Dark  Days.  229 

its  ghastly  burden.  That  was  their  exchange,  and 
they  looked  upon  the  shallow  trenches  as  the  only 
home  which  they  would  ever  reach.  Hope  died  out 
and  despair  set  in.  Some  prisoners  lost  their  reason, 
and  became  raving  maniacs,  while  others  became 
only  gibbering  idiots.  Some  who  still  retained  their 
reason,  who  all  their  lives  had  believed  that  the  Al- 
mighty is  a  God  of  justice  and  truth,  began  to  doubt 
if  there  be  a  God.  Although  they  had  cried  and 
begged  for  deliverance,  there  was  no  answer  to  their 
prayers.  Paul  felt  that  his  own  faith  was  wavering ; 
but  he  could  not  let  go  of  the  instructions  he  had 
received  from  his  mother.  In  the  darkest  hour,  when 
he  was  most  sorely  tempted  to  break  out  into  curs- 
ing, he  was  comforted  and  reassured  by  Uncle  Peter, 
an  old  gray-headed  negro,  who  had  been  a  slave  all 
his  life.  Peter  had  been  whipped,  kicked,  and  cuffed 
many  times  by  his  hard-hearted,  wicked  master,  not 
because  he  was  unfaithful,  but  because  he  loved  to 
pray,  and  shout,  and  sing.  Through  the  long  night, 
sitting  by  his  pitch-knot  fire  in  his  cabin,  Uncle  Peter 
had  sung  the  songs  which  lifted  him  in  spirit  almost 
up  to  heaven,  whither  his  wife  and  children  had 
gone,  after  cruel  whippings  and  scourgings  by  theit 


230  Winning  his  Way. 

master.  It  was  so  sweet  to  think  of  her  as  having 
passed  over  the  river  of  Jordan  into  the  blessed  land, 
that  he  could  not  refrain  from  shouting: 

"  O  my  Mary  is  sitting  on  the  tree  of  life, 

To  see  the  Jordan  roll ; 
O,  roll  Jordan,  roll  Jordan,  roll  Jordan,  roll ! 
I  will  march  the  angel  march, — 
I  will  march  the  angel  march. 
O  my  soul  is  rising  heavenward, 

To  see  where  the  Jordan  rolls." 

He  had  given  food  and  shelter  to  some  of  the  pris- 
oners who  escaped  from  the  horrible  place,  and  had 
piloted  them  through  the  woods,  and  for  this  was 
arrested  and  thrown  into  the  prison. 

Uncle  Peter  took  a  great  liking  to  Paul,  and, 
when  Paul  was  down-hearted,  cheered  him  by  say- 
ing :  "  Never  you  give  up.  Don't  let  go  of  de  hand 
of  de  good  Lord.  It  is  mighty  hard  to  bear  such 
treatment,  but  we  colored  people  have  borne  it  all 
our  lives.  But  'pears  like  my  heart  would  break 
when  I  think  of  my  children  sold  down  Souf."  Un- 
cle Peter  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  tattered  coat-sleeve, 
and  added:  "But  de  Lord  is  coming  to  judge  de 
earth  with  righteousness,  and  den  I  reckon  de  Reba 
will  catch  it." 


Dark  Days.  231 

Uncle  Peter  dug  roots  and  cooked  Paul's  food  foi 
him,  for  the  Rebels  would  not  allow  them  any  wood, 
although  there  was  a  forest  near  the  prison.  Paul 
*  could  not  keep  back  the  tears  when  he  saw  how  kind 
Uncle  Peter  was.  He  thought  that  he  never  should 
weep  again,  for  he  felt  that  the  fountains  of  his  heart 
were  drying  up.  Uncle  Peter  sat  by  him  through  the 
long  days,  fanning  him  with  his  old  tattered  straw 
hat,  brushing  the  flies  from  his  face,  moistening  his 
lips  with  water,  and  bathing  bis  brow.  He  was  as 
black  as  charcoal,  and  had  a  great  nose  and  thick 
lips,  —  but  notwithstanding  all  that  Paul  loved  him. 

Thus  the  days  and  weeks  and  months  went  by, 
Uncle  Peter  keeping  the  breath  of  life  in  Paul's 
body,  while  thousands  of  his  comrades  died.  There 
was  no  change  in  prison  affairs  for  the  better.  There 
was  no  hope  of  release,  no  prospect  of  deliverance, 
—  no  words  from  home,  no  cheering  news,  no  intel- 
ligence, except  from  other  prisoners  captured  from 
time  to  time,  and  sent  to  the  horrible  slaughter-pen 
to  become  maniacs  and  idiots,  —  to  be  murdered,  — 
to  die  of  starvation  and  rottenness,  —  to  be  borne 
put  in  the  dead-cart  to  the  trenches. 

Though    Paul  sometimes  was   sorely  tempted   to 


232  Winning  his  Way. 

yield  to  despondency,  there  were  hours  when,  with 
clear  vision,  he  looked  beyond  the  horrors  of  the 
prison  to  the  time  when  God  would  balance  the 
scales  of  justice,  and  permit  judgment  to  be  exe- 
cuted, not  only  upon  the  fiend  Wirz,  who  had  charge 
of  the  prison,  but  also  upon  Jeff  Davis  and  the  lead- 
ers of  the  rebellion.  And  though  his  sufferings  were 
terrible  to  bear,  there  was  not  a  moment  when  he 
was  sorry  that  he  had  enlisted  to  save  his  country. 
So  through  all  the  gloom  and  darkness  his  patriot- 
ism and  devotion  shone  like  a  star  which  nevei 
sets. 


Consecration.  233 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

CONSECRATION. 

AS  the  weeks  passed  by,  bringing  no  intelligence 
to  New  Hope  that  Paul  was  living,  —  when 
\here  was  no  longer  a  doubt  of  his  death,  —  Father 
Surplice  held  a  memorial  service.  It  was  on  Sun- 
day, and  all  the  people  were  at  church.  Appropriate 
for  the  occasion  were  the  words  which  he  read  from 
the  New  Testament  of  the  widow  of  Nain,  —  how, 
"  as  Jesus  came  nigh  to  the  city,  there  was  a  dead 
man  carried  out,  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and 
she  was  a  widow ;  and  when  the  Lord  saw  her,  he 
had  compassion  on  her,  and  said,  '  Weep  not ! ' ' 

Consoling  and  comforting  were  his  own  words, 
which  sank  deep  into  the  hearts  of  the  stricken  peo- 
ple ;  and  though  the  good  man  said,  "  Weep  not  1 " 
tears  dropped  from  his  own  eyes,  and  fell  upon  the 
great  Bible  which  lay  open  before  him.  It  was  a 
sad  and  solemn  service.  Though  the  heart  of  the 
mother  was  yearning  for  her  son,  yet  she  could  say, 
"The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away; 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 


234  Winning  his  Way. 

Mrs.  Parker  still  lived  in  the  little  old  cottage. 
The  neighbors  were  very  kind,  and  she  wanted  for 
nothing,  for  Colonel  Dare  remembered  his  promise. 
Peaceful  was  her  life.  The  birds  sang  cheerful  songs ; 
sweet  was  the  humming  of  the  bees,  fragrant  the 
flowers  in  the  garden,  and  steady  the  flowing  of  the 
river ;  and  as  she  listened  to  the  waterfall,  she  thought 
of  Paul  as  standing  by  the  River  of  Life.  How, 
then,  could  she  mourn  for  him?  Yet  she  missed 
him.  Sometimes  she  listened  as  if  to  hear  his  foot- 
steps coming  up  the  garden  walk.  Sometimes  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  her  heart  went  out  to  the 
lonely  battle-field  where  she  thought  him  lying.  O, 
if  she  could  but  behold  him  again,  —  clasp  him  in 
her  arms,  —  and  once  more  lay  her  hand  upon  his 
brow,  and  bless  him  with  a  mother's  tenderest  love  I 

But  he  was  gone,  and  for  him  she  could  work  no 
more.  His  comrades  were  bearing  on  the  flag,  up- 
holding it  on  bloody  fields,  fighting  as  he  fought, 
suffering  as  he  suffered,  needing  help  and  comfort 
and  cheer  from  those  at  home.  There  was  work  to 
be  done  for  them ;  so  through  the  days  she  sat  in 
the  old  kitchen,  knitting  and  sewing  for  the  soldiers, 
wishing  that  she  had  half  a  dozen  hands  instead 
of  two,  that  she  might  help  them  more. 


Consecration.  335 

There  was  one  who  came  to  aid  her  every  day,  — 
Azalia,  who,  in  the  silence  and  seclusion  of  her  cham 
her,  had  looked  out  upon  the  yellow  harvest-fields 
where  the  farmers  were  gathering  the  first  ripe  ears 
of  seed-corn,  and  had  tried  to  still  the  wild  commo- 
tion in  her  heart  by  remembering  that  it  was  just  and 
right  for  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  to  gather  his  "  choi- 
cest grains."  Down  on  the  lowlands  by  the  river  the 
nurserymen  were  selecting  their  fairest  trees,  and 
transplanting  them  in  their  orchards  on  the  pleas- 
ant hills  beyond  the  stream.  Why,  then,  should 
she  complain  if  the  kind  Father  had  seen  fit  to  do 
the  same? 

It  was  consoling  to  take  from  her  bureau  drawer, 
where  her  keepsakes  were  stored,  the  letters  which 
Paul  had  written,  undo  the  black  ribbon  which  she 
had  ^ied  around  the  package,  and  read  again  and 
again  that  which  she  almost  knew  by  heart.  What 
manly  words  were  there :  "  Life  is  worth  nothing 
unless  devoted  to  noble  ends.  I  can  see  the  mil- 
lions yet  to  come  beckoning  me  to  do  my  duty  for 
their  sake.  What  answer  can  I  give  them  if  I 
falter?" 

So  read  one  of  the  letters.      They  were  words 


236  Winning  his   Way. 

which  she  could  not  forget  They  were  written 
from  the  trenches  before  Vicksburg,  when  the  pros- 
pects of  the  country  were  dark  and  gloomy,  —  when 
craven  men  at  home  were  crying,  "Peace!  Peace! 
Let  us  have  peace  at  any  price!"  forgetting  that 
there  can  be  no  reconcilement  between  right  and 
wrong.  Paul  had  sacrificed  everything  —  life  itself 

—  for  the  sake  of  those  who  were  to  come  after  him, 

—  for  Truth   and   Justice.     She   thought  of  him   as 
asleep  beneath  the  sod  of  the  battle-field  where  he 
fell,  —  of  all  that  was  mortal  lying  there,  but  of  his 
soul  as  having  passed  up  into  heaven,  perhaps  even 
then  beholding  her  from  the  celestial  sphere.     "  What 
answer  can  I  give  to  those  who  come  after  me?" 
The  question  haunted  her  through  the  waning  days 
and  the  lonely  nights.     What  could  she  do?     How 
listless  her  life!  of  how  little  account!     How  feeble, 
forceless,  and  narrow  all  her  efforts !      What  sacri- 
fices  had   she   made?      None.      She  had   lived   for 
herself  alone.     Was  this  all  of  life?     In  the   silent 
hours,  when  all  around  were  hushed  in  slumber,  her 
longing  soul,  with  far-reaching  sight,  looked  out  upon 
the  coming  years,  and  beheld  the  opening  prospect, 
—a  country  saved,  a  nation  redeemed,  justice  and 


Consecration.  237 

truth  triumphant,  and  Peace,  with  her  white  wings, 
brooding  over  the  land!  This  through  sacrifice  of 
blood,  of  strength,  of  ease  and  comfort.  To  with- 
hold the  sacrifice  was  to  lose  ail.  To  her  the  com- 
ing millions  were  beckoning  as  they  had  beckoned 
to  him.  With  prayers  of  consecration  she  gave  her- 
self to  the  country,  —  to  go  wherever  duty  called, 
to  labor,  to  endure  hardship,  and  brave  scenes  which 
would  wring  out  her  heart's  blood,  —  to  face  disease 
and  death  itself,  if  need  be,  to  hand  down  a  price- 
less inheritance  to  the  coming  ages. 

"You  will  get  sick,  my  child.  You  have  not 
strength  to  be  a  nurse  in  the  hospital,"  said  her 
mother,  when  Azalia  told  her  that  she  must  go  and 
take  care  of  the  soldiers. 

"  I  cannot  spare  you,  my  daughter,"  said  her  fa- 
ther, tenderly  taking  her  in  nis  arms,  and  kissing 
her  ruby  lips.  She  was  his  only  child,  and  he  loved 
her  dearly.  "I  don't  think  it  is  your  duty  to  go; 
and  how  lonesome  the  house  would  be  without  my 
d?~':ng!" 

And  so,  knowing  that  it  was  her  duty  to  do  what- 
ever her  parents  wished,  she  tried  to  be  content 
But  the  days  dragged  wearily.  She  was  ever  think* 


238  Winning  his   Way. 

ing  of  the  soldiers,  —  thinking  through  the  days  and 
through  the  nights,  till  the  bright  bloom  faded  from 
her  cheek.  Her  heart  was  far  away.  Her  life  was 
incomplete,  —  she  felt  that  it  was  running  to  waste. 

Her  father  saw  that  his  flower  was  fading.  At 
last  he  said,  "Go,  my  darling,  and  God  be  with 
you." 

"I  don't  think  that  Judge  Adams  ought  to  let 
Azalia  go  into  the  hospital.  It  is  n't  a  fit  place  for 
girls,"  said  Miss  Dobb,  when  she  heard  that  Aza- 
lia was  to  be  a  nurse.  But,  giving  no  heed  to  Miss 
Dobb,  with  the  blessing  of  her  parents  following  her, 
she  left  her  pleasant  home,  gave  up  all  its  ease  and 
comfort,  to  minister  to  the  sick  and  wounded,  who 
had  fought  to  save  the  country. 

She  went  to  Washington,  and  thence  to  the  hos- 
pitals at  Annapolis.  It  was  hard  work  to  stand  all 
day  by  the  side  of  the  sick,  bathing  their  fevered 
brows,  moistening  their  parched  lips,  binding  up  their 
bleeding  wounds.  It  was  painful  to  look  upon  the 
quivering  flesh,  torn  and  mangled  by  cannon-shot. 
But  she  learned  to  bear  it  all,  —  to  stand  calmly  by, 
waiting  upon  the  surgeon  while  he  ran  his  sharp  knife 
into  the  live  flesh.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  aid  him 
ki  his  work. 


Consecration.  239 

Her  step  was  light  upon  the  floor ;  ^Dothing  and 
tender  the  touch  of  her  hand.  There  was  no  light 
so  sweet  and  pure  as  that  which  beamed  from  her 
earnest  eyes.  The  sick  waited  impatiently  for  her 
appearance  in  the  morning,  watched  her  footsteps 
through  the  day,  thanked  her  for  all  she  did,  and 
said,  "God  bless  you!"  when  she  bade  them  good 
night.  Men  who  were  in  the  habit  of  uttering  fear- 
ful oaths  wept  when  she  talked  with  them  about 
their  mothers ;  she  wrote  their  letters,  and  read  to 
them  the  words  of  affection  which  came  from  home. 
She  sang  the  songs  they  loved  to  hear.  It  was  like 
wine  to  the  weak.  The  down-hearted  took  new  cour 

••» 

age,  and  those  who  were  well  enough  to  be  hobbling 
about  on  crutches,  who  were  telling  stories  of  the 
battles,  forgot  what  they  were  saying  while  listening 
to  her  voice.  Her  presence  was  noonday,  her  ab- 
sence night.  Once,  when  through  long  watching 
and  patient  waiting  her  strength  gave  way,  and  the 
fever  raged  in  her  own  veins,  it  was  touching  to  see 
their  sorrow.  The  loud-talking  spoke  in  whispers, 
and  walked  noiselessly  along  the  wards,  for  fear  of 
increasing  the  pain  which  racked  her  aching  head; 
the  sick  ones,  who  missed  the  touch  of  her  magic 


240  Winning  his   Way. 

hand,  and  $ie  sweet  music  of  her  voice,  and  the 
sunlight  of  her  presence,  whose  fevers  were  raging 
because  she  was  absent,  when  the  physician  went 
his  rounds  in  the  morning,  at  noon,  and  at  night, 
inquired  not  about  themselves,  but  her.  When  the 
fever  passed,  —  when  she  was  well  enough  to  walk 
through  the  wards,  and  hold  for  a  moment  the  hands 
which  were  stretched  out  on  every  side,  —  it  was  as 
if  her  very  presence  had  power  to  heal. 

How  blessed  her  work !  —  to  give  life  and  strength ; 
to  soothe  pain,  change  sorrow  to  joy;  to  sit  beside 
the  dying,  and  talk  of  the  Lamb  of  God  that  taketh 
away  the  sin  of  the  world ;  to  wipe  the  dampness 
of  death  from  their  brows,  listen  to  their  last  words, 
and,  when  the  spirit  had  flown,  to  close  the  sightless 
eyes,  and  cut  from  the  pale  brow  a  lock  of  hair  for 
a  fond  mother  far  away,  thinking  ever  of  her  dying 
boy. 

So  the  months  went  by,  —  autumn  to  winter,  winter 
to  spring,  and  spring  to  summer. 


Under  the  Old  Flag.  241 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

UNDER    THE    OLD    FLAG. 

'  INHERE  was  no  change  at  Andersonville,  but  in 
i.  the  loathsome  prison  it  was  ever  the  same  ter- 
r  ble  scene  of  starvation,  corruption,  disease,  despair, 
a' id  death.  Every  morning  those  who  had  died 
d.iring  the  night  were  collected  by  the  prisoners  and 
bid  in  rows  by  the  prison  gate,  where,  during  the 
day,  they  were  piled  upon  the  dead-cart  and  borne 
out  to  the  trenches.  There  was  no  hope  of  relief 
for  the  living,  and  each  prisoner  looked  forward  with 
indifference  to  his  inevitable  fate.  Above  them 
floated  the  Rebel  flag.  They  were  kept  there  be- 
neath its  folds  by  Jefferson  Davis  and  General  Lee, 
till  thirteen  thousand  had  been  starved  and  mur- 
dered. 

Paul  knew  that,  notwithstanding  Uncle  Peter's 
constant  care  and  nursing,  he  was  growing  weaker; 
but  he  had  learned  to  look  death  calmly  in  the 
face,  and  so  was  undisturbed  by  the  prospect.  He 
knew  that  God,  who  takes  care  of  the  sparrows, 

IX  P 


242  Winning  his  Way. 

would  not  forget  his  mother,  and  he  felt  that  Azalia 
would  sometimes  shed  a  tear  when  she  thought 
of  him. 

But  one  morning  there  was  an  unusual  stir  among 
the  prisoners.  "You  are  to  be  exchanged  and  sent 
home,"  said  the  Rebel  officers.  They  had  been  told 
the  same  thing  so  many  times,  and  had  been  always 
so  cruelly  deceived,  that  they  did  not  believe  the 
statement  till  orders  were  issued  for  a  portion  of 
them  to  be  ready  to  march  to  the  cars  at  an  ap- 
pointed hour.  Paul  was  among  those  who  were 
ordered  away.  All  were  ready  in  an  instant,  for 
they  had  no  baggage  to  pack  up,  no  knapsacks,  no 
equipments,  no  overcoats,  —  nothing  but  the  rags 
upon  their  bodies. 

Those  who  were  so  weak  that  they  could  scarcely 
creep  from  place  to  place  rose  and  stood  upon  their 
feet  when  told  that  they  were  to  go  home.  Paul 
felt  a  fresh  wave  of  life  sweep  over  him,  thrilling 
every  fibre  of  his  wasted  frame.  Hope  revived. 
Home  !  O  the  blissful  thought !  He  rose  weak  and 
trembling  from  his  bed  on  the  cold,  damp  ground, 
wrapped  his  rags  about  him,  and,  leaning  on  a  cane, 
supported  by  Uncle  Peter,  hobbled  out  and  took  his 


Under  the  Old  Flag.  243 

place  in  the  long  line  of  skeletons,  and  waited  with 
eager  eyes  to  see  the  gate  turn  upon  its  rusty  hinges. 

It  was  hard  to  part  with  Uncle  Peter,  who  had 
been  so  kind  to  him.  "  God  bless  you  and  reward 
you  for  all  your  kindness  to  me,"  said  Paul,  bidding 
him  good  by,  and  shaking  hands  for  the  last  time. 

"  I  'se  sorry  to  part  with  ye,  Kurnel,  but  I  bless  de 
Lord  you  is  gwine.  We'll  meet  again  one  of  dese 
days,  whar  de  Rebs  won't  trouble  us,  and  whar  we 
will  be  free  foreber,"  said  the  old  negro,  looking  up 
into  heaven.  He  could  not  go.  He  was  a  slave. 
There  was  no  freedom  for  him  till  the  rebellion  was 
crushed,  or  till  the  grave  opened. 

The  gates  turned  on  their  hinges,  and  the  regi- 
ment of  skeletons  in  rags  took  up  its  march.  Such 
a  procession  never  before  was  seen  on  earth.  A 
thousand  emaciated  forms,  tottering,  reeling,  hobbling 
on  canes  and  crutches,  wending  their  way  to  the 
cars,  —  not  to  luxurious  cushioned  seats,  but  to  hard, 
jolting  cattle-cars,  —  for  a  long  ride  of  hundreds  of 
miles  before  reaching  the  sea-coast.  But  hope  in 
spired  them.  They  were  breathing  fresh  air,  and 
were  gazing  on  smiling  fields,  waving  with  grain. 
They  were  on  their  way  home.  The  birds  cheered 


244  Winning  his   Way. 

them,  singing  of  home.  "  Going  home,  going  home  I  * 
said  the  car-wheels,  as  they  passed  from  rail  to  raiL 
In  joy  and  gladness  they  sang : 

"  I  'm  going  home,  I  'm  going  home, 
To  die  no  more,  to  die  no  more." 

It  was  as  if  they  had  left  behind  them  forever  all 
sorrow  and  suffering,  and  that  for  them  there  could 
be  no  more  distress,  or  pain,  or  anguish.  It  was  a 
long,  weary,  dusty  ride.  Some  died  on  the  way, 
but  hope  kept  most  of  them  alive. 

They  reached  the  city  of  Charleston,  passed  from 
the  cars  to  a  steamboat,  which  was  to  take  them 
down  the  harbor  to  the  place  of  exchange.  The 
waters  danced  joyfully  around  them,  as  if  greeting 
them  with  gladness.  The  breezes  came  in  from  the 
dark  blue  ocean  and  fanned  their  wasted  cheeks. 
The  waves,  like  a  loving  mother,  gently  rocked 
them  and  sung  a  soothing  lullaby.  But  O  what  joy 
to  behold  once  more  the  dear  old  flag!  How  se- 
renely and  lovingly  it  floated  in  the  breeze!  They 
saluted  it  with  cheers,  —  shed  tears  of  gratitude, — 
clasped  each  other  by  the  hand,  —  rushed  into  each 
other's  arms.  Those  who  were  able  to  stand  danced 


Under  the  Old  Flag.  24$ 

in  a  delirium  of  joy !  Paul  was  too  weak  to  sit  up. 
He  could  only  lie  upon  the  deck,  and  gaze  upon 
the  flag  till  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  say : 
"  Thank  God,  I  have  seen  it  once  more ! "  Beneath 
that  flag  there  was  joy,  peace,  comfort,  food,  cloth- 
ing, and  freedom.  Hospital  nurses  were  there 
with  blankets,  and  great  kettles  filled  with  soup  and 
coffee.  For  the  wounded  there  were  bandages ; 
for  the  sick  there  were  cordials,  wines,  and  medi- 
cines. There  were  tender-hearted  men,  ready  to 
relieve  all  their  sufferings.  It  was  like  passing  from 
the  prison  of  despair  into  a  paradise  of  peace  and 
rest,  and  in  joy  and  gladness  they  began  to  sing, 

"  Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord." 

The  strong  men  on  board  of  the  ship,  the  nurses, 
and  the  stout-hearted  sailors  wept  like  children,  and 
spoke  hard  words  against  the  Rebels  when  they 
looked  upon  the  haggard  countenances,  the  hollow 
cheeks,  the  sunken  eyes,  of  the  skeleton  forms 
around  them. 

Although  Paul  was  so  weak  that  he  could  hardly 
lift  his  hands  to  his  head,  although  his  comrades 
were  passing  away,  although  every  day  he  saw  their 


246  Winning  his   Way. 

bodies,  wrapped  in  hammocks  and  weighted  with 
shot,  cast  into  the  sea,  yet  he  never  experienced 
such  bliss,  such  contentment,  as  while  lying  on  the 
deck  through  the  long  summer  day,  looking  up  to 
the  old  flag,  and  the  clear  sky,  and  out  upon  the 
calm  and  peaceful  sea,  thinking  of  the  sea  of  glass 
and  the  great  white  throne,  and  the  calmness,  serene- 
ness,  and  rest  of  heaven.  And  at  night,  when  lulled 
to  sleep  by  the  rippling  waves,  how  enchanting  his 
dreams  of  home,  of  his  mother,  of  the  scenes  of 
other  days,  —  the  old  house,  the  swallows  twittering 
around  its  eaves,  the  roses  blooming  beneath  the 
window,  the  night-wind  sweeping  down  the  valley, 
the  church-bell  ringing  the  evening  hour,  its  deep 
tolling  when  the  funeral  train  passed  on  to  the 
cemetery  in  the  shady  grove,  —  his  friends  welcom- 
ing him  home  once  more,  Azalia  among  them,  queen 
of  the  hour,  peerless  in  beauty,  with  rose  bloom  on 
her  cheek,  —  of  Mr.  Chrome,  Judge  Adams,  and 
Colonel  Dare,  all  saying,  "  We  are  glad  to  see  you," 
—  dreaming,  and  waking,  to  find  it  only  a  dream. 

But  the  ship  was  bearing  him  on.  The  distance 
was  lessening.  One  more  day,  and  the  voyage  would 
be  at  an  end,  the  ship  in  port  O,  if  he  could  but 


Under  tlie  Old  Flag.  247 

see  his  mother  once  more,  —  feel  her  hand  upon 
his  brow,  her  kiss  upon  his  lip,  —  then  he  could  die 
content !  A  desire  for  life  set  in.  Hope  revived. 
He  would  fight  death  as  he  had  fought  the  Rebels, 
<md,  God  willing,  he  would  win  the  victory. 


243  Winning  his  Way. 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH. 

THE  hospital  steamer,  with  its  freight  of  living 
skeletons,  had  accomplished  its  voyage  in 
safety,  and  lay  moored  at  the  wharf  in  Annapolis. 
Nurses  and  sailors  were  carrying  the  emaciated  forms 
from  the  ship  to  the  shore,  to  the  clean  and  tidy 
wards  of  the  hospital. 

It  was  a  sight  which  wrung  tears  from  the  eyes  of 
those  who  did  not  often  weep.  The  ship  was  a  char- 
nel-house. Death  in  its  most  horrible  forms  was 
there, — from  starvation,  from  corruption,  scurvy,  lock- 
jaw, gangrene,  consumption,  and  fever.  How  ghastly 
the  scene  !  Men,  once  robust  and  strong,  weak  and 
helpless  as  babes,  with  hollow  cheeks,  toothless  gums, 
thin  pale  lips,  colorless  flesh,  sunken  eyes,  long,  tan- 
gled hair,  uncombed  for  many  months,  skeleton  fin- 
gers with  nails  like  eagles'  claws,  lying  in  rags  upon 
the  deck,  —  some,  with  strained  eyes,  looking  up  for 
the  last  time  to  the  dear  old  flag  which  waved  above 
them,  for  which  they  had  fought,  for  which  they  had 


The  Jaws  of  Death.  249 

starved,  for  which  they  were  dying,  gazing  in  rap- 
ture on  its  blessed  folds,  till  their  eyes  were  fixed 
in  death,  and  the  slowly-heaving  heart  stood  still  for- 
ever! They,  and  all  their  comrades,  sleeping  on  a 
hundred  battle-fields,  and  mouldering  in  the  trenches 
at  Andersonville,  were  the  victims  of  Jefferson  Davis 
and  General  Lee,  whose  names  shall  rot  through  all 
coming  time. 

There  was  work  for  the  gentle-hearted  nurses  who 
stood  waiting  in  the  hospital  wards,  —  work  which 
required  tenderest  care ;  —  removing  the  rags,  wash- 
ing the  fevered  skeletons,  bathing  the  bleeding  wounds 
where  the  sharp  bones  had  pierced  the  skin ;  feeding 
them,  —  a  crumb  at  a  time;  administering  cordials 
drop  by  drop,  to  bring  back  with  delicate  nursing 
the  receding  tides  of  life. 

With  a  bleeding  heart,  but  yet  with  steady  nerves, 
Azalia  passed  among  them,  doing  her  appointed 
work.  There  was  one  who  was  lying  as  if  asleep, 
with  his  hands  clasped  upon  his  breast.  His  beard 
had  been  long  uncut.  His  cheeks  were  wasted,  his 
eyes  sunken,  but  he  had  a  manly  brow.  A  strange 
fear  and  trembling  crept  over  her, — a  shuddering 
of  the  heart  Alarmed  and  frightened  at  she  knew 


250  Winning  his   Way. 

not  what,  she  brushed  back  the  matted  hair  from 
his  temples,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  brow,  cold 
and  damp  with  the  dews  of  death.  The  soldier 
opened  his  eyes,  looked  into  her  face,  stared  wildly 
around  him,  and  tried  to  speak.  It  was  but  one  word, 
and  that  a  whisper,  —  her  own  name,  "Azalia!" 

A  cry  rang  through  the  ward,  startling  the  physi- 
cians and  the  nurses,  and  waking  those  who  were 
asleep.  She  clasped  him  in  her  arms,  fell  upon  his 
face,  and  kissed  his  wasted  lips.  "O  Paul!  Can 
it  be  that  you  are  here?"  she  said. 

The  throbbing  of  her  heart  was  like  the  fluttering 
of  a  frightened  bird.  Sweet,  calm,  and  beautiful  as 
the  setting  sun  was  the  smile  upon  his  face,  and  in 
his  eyes  the  celestial  light  of  Peace !  They  closed, 
and  he  lay  again  as  if  in  slumber. 

"They  told  me  that  you  were  dead,"  she  said. 

There  was  no  reply ;  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
heart,  but  could  feel  no  beating  there ;  touched  her 
fingers  to  his  fleshless  wrist,  but  could  find  no  throb- 
bing of  the  pulse.  The  thin  blood  was  receding  from 
his  colorless  lips,  —  the  tide  was  going  out.  "Doc- 
tor! Doctor!  O  come  quick!  Save  him!"  she 
cried. 


The  Jaws  of  Death.  25 1 

The  doctor  came  and  gazed  upon  the  face  of  Paul. 
"  He  is  not  quite  gone,"  he  said,  then  moistened  his 
lips  with  brandy.  There  was  a  quickening  of  the 
pulse.  "  If  he  rallies  from  this,  we  may  save  him/' 
he  said. 

They  wrapped  him  in  warm  flannels,  rubbed  his 
fleshless  limbs,  and  gave  him  cordials,  drop  by  drop. 
How  long  the  hours,  —  the  weary  hours  of  hope  and 
fear,  —  of  expectation  and  distress,  —  while  the  falter- 
ing spirit,  as  if  tired  of  earth,  was  but  fluttering  awhile 
along  the  shore  of  Time  before  taking  its  returnless 
flight  over  the  dark  and  silent  river  to  another  land ! 
Through  the  night  Azalia  sat  by  his  side,  watching 
him  with  sleepless  eyes,  fanning  his  pale  brow.  The 
morning  sun  beamed  upon  her  still  sitting  there. 
Those  who  were  accustomed  to  watch  for  her  appear- 
ance in  the  early  morning,  restless  with  fever,  beheld 
her  as  clothed  with  celestial  brightness,  and  said  one 
to  another,  "  There  sits  our  Angel  of  Light ! " 

Through  the  day  she  was  there,  watching  the  slow 
heavings  of  his  heart,  holding  her  breath  while  listen- 
ing to  assure  herself  that  he  was  still  breathing ;  hop- 
ing and  fearing,  holding  her  hands  at  times  upon 
her  own  heart  to  still  its  wild,  tumultuous  beating,  — 


252  Winning  his   Way. 

giving  him  atom  by  atom  the  needful  nourishment,  — 
bending  over  him  to  smooth  his  pillow, — opening  the 
casement  for  the  winds  to  blow  upon  his  bloodless 
cheek,  —  thus  snatching  him  from  the  very  jaws  of 
death  and  winning  him  back  to  life  1 


Honu.  253 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

HOME. 

A  DESPATCH  came  clicking  into  the  telegraph 
office  in  New  Hope  that  Paul  Parker  was  alive, 
—  that  he  had  been  a  prisoner  at  Andersonville,  was 
very  feeble,  but  in  a  fair  way  to  get  well,  and  would 
soon  be  at  home.  It  *was  from  Azalia.  Mr.  Mag- 
net read  it  in  amazement,  then  ran  as  fast  as  he 
could  to  carry  it  to  the  little  old  cottage.  "Good 
news ! "  he  shouted,  rushing  into  the  house  out  of 
breath,  without  knocking.  "Paul  is  alive  1  Paul  is 
alive!" 

"My  son  alive!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Parker,  her  heart 
leaping  wildly. 

"Yes;  there  is  the  despatch." 

She  read  it  in  fear  and  trembling,  her  brain  in  a 
whirl.  She  must  fly  to  him!  O  if  she  only  had 
wings  I  Paul  alive  1  The  old  clock  took  up  the 
word,  "Alive,  —  alive,  —  alive,"  it  said.  A  robin 
perched  in  the  great  maple  sang  all  day,  "He  is 
coming  home,  —  is  coming  home,"  while  the  swal 


254  Winning  his  Way. 

lows  from  their  nests  under  the  eaves  looked  into 
the  old  kitchen  through  the  open  door,  twittering 
together,  as  if  saying,  "  How  glad  we  are  1 "  Never 
so  bright  the  sunshine  as  on  that  morning,  nor  so 
fragrant  the  flowers  1  All  nature  was  glad,  and  re- 
joiced in  her  joy. 

Mr.  Magnet  told  the  news  through  the  village,  the 
people  listening  in  wonder.  Mr.  Chrome  threw  down 
his  paint-brush,  took  off  his  old  hat,  swung  it  over 
his  head,  and  gave  three  chSers.  Through  the  day 
he  kept  saying  to  himself,  "  That  beats  the  Dutch  ! " 
The  children  ran  through  the  streets  shouting,  "  Paul 
is  alive !  Paul  is  alive ! "  Father  Surplice,  Judge 
Adams,  Colonel  Dare,  and  the  neighbors  —  a  dozen 
at  a  time  —  went  down  to  shake  hands  with  Paul's 
mother,  making  it  such  a  day  of  gladness  as  never 
was  known  before  in  New  Hope. 

Impatiently  they  waited  for  the  day  when  Paul 
would  be  with  them  again. 

"  We  will  let  him  know  that  we  have  not  forgotten 
him,"  said  Colonel  Dare ;  "  but  it  is  little  that  we  can 
do  for  one  who  has  suffered  so  much." 

So  also  said  Judge  Adams,  and  Mr.  Capias,  and 
all  the  people. 


Home.  255 

The  day  came  at  last  He  was  on  board  the 
train,  feeble  and  weak,  but  Azalia  was  by  his  side, 
supporting  his  weary  head, — sustaining  him  when 
his  strength  was  gone.  All  New  Hope  was  at  the 
depot  to  receive  him,  looking  with  eager  eyes  down 
the  level  track  to  see  the  approaching  train  when  it 
rounded  the  distant  curve. 

"It  is  coming!  There  it  isl"  shouted  the  boys. 
They  loved  him,  their  dear  old  teacher.  The  train 
stopped,  and  the  conductor  came  out  with  Paul  lean- 
ing on  his  arm,  Azalia  following.  The  people  were 
going  to  hurrah,  but  when  they  saw  how  poor,  pale, 
and  emaciated  he  was,  how  thin  his  cheeks,  how 
hollow  and  sunken  his  eyes,  how  languid  and  weary, 
how  little  there  was  left  of  one  who  once  was  so 
manly,  they  held  their  breaths,  and  felt  a  strange 
choking  in  their  throats. 

Blessed  the  meeting  of  mother  and  son !  He  had 
come  back  from  the  grave.  He  was  even  then  al- 
most a  corpse,  but  he  was  alive  1  She  had  no  words 
to  utter;  her  joy  was  silent  and  deep.  She  could 
only  clasp  him  in  her  arms,  fold  him  to  her  heart, 
and,  looking  up  to  heaven,  with  streaming  eyes,  give 
iilent  thanks  to  God. 


256  Winning  his   Way. 

The  people  bowed  their  heads  and  stood  in  silent 
reverence.  Colonel  Dare  came  with  his  carriage. 
Mr.  Chrome  took  Paul  in  his  arms,  and  lifted  him 
into  it  as  if  he  was  but  a  child.  The  people  came 

one  after  another  and  touched  his  hands.     The  chil- 

• 

dren  brought  flowers  and  laid  them  in  his  arms. 
They  all  had  words  of  welcome  for  Azalia.  She  had 
saved  him.  "God  bless  you,  darling!"  said  her 
father,  kissing  her  cheeks,  still  round  and  fair,  though 
watching,  anxiety,  care,  and  sorrow  had  robbed  them 
of  the  bright  bloom  of  other  days. 

"The  Lord  sent  you  in  the  way,  as  he  sent 
Joseph  into  Egypt,"  said  Father  Surplice. 

Deep,  tender,  and  hearty  the  love  of  friends  1 
Daphne  came  with  choicest  delicacies.  How  pleas- 
ant to  hear  her  voice  1  How  cheery  her  laugh  !  Mr. 
Noggin  brought  a  box  of  his  best  honey.  Mr. 
Chrome,  who  loved  to  hunt  and  fish,  brought  quails 
and  pigeons.  Even  Miss  Dobb  sent  up  to  know  if 
there  was  not  something  that  she  Could  get  for  him. 
The  birds  came,  the  robins  and  swallows,  singing  and 
twittering  and  brimming  over  with  joy. 

How  enchanting  the  music  which  came  swelling 
up  the  valley  from  the  water  by  the  mill,  from  the 


Home.  257 

woods  beyond  the  river,  from  the  crickets  in  the 
fields,  from  the  church-bell,  blending  with  the  night 
airs,  and  filling  his  soul  with  peace  I  But  more  bless- 
ed than  everything  else  on  earth  was  the  holy  light 
which  beamed  upon  him  from  Azalia's  eyes,  which 
went  down  deep  into  his  soul. 

"You  have  always  been  my  angel  of  light  and 
goodness,  and  nothing  but  death  shall  part  us,"  he 
said,  as  she  sat  by  his  side. 

"  I  am  glad  if  I  have  helped  you,  Paul,"  she  said, 
laying  her  soft  hand  upon  his  brow,  and  kissing  his 
lips.  Pure  and  true  the  love  which  had  deepened 
through  many  years,  which  had  beamed  from  each 
other's  eyes,  but  which  till  then  had  never  been, 
spoken.  Like  a  brook  gushing  from  springs  in  dis- 
tant mountains,  so,  far  back  in  childhood,  had  been 
the  beginning  of  their  affection,  and  now  it  was  a 
river. 

Day  by  day  his  strength  returned,  the  flesh  came 
again  upon  his  wasted  limbs,  and  health  bloomed 
upon  his  cheeks.  Then  they  walked  together  in  the 
garden,  talking  of  the  dear  old  times,  and  looking 
onward  to  a  future  more  golden  than  the  sunniest 
day  of  all  the  past 


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